The cursor is staring at me accusingly. Daring me to write some words on the blank page that is offered to me.
I am struggling, but I don’t know what to write.
I cannot connect to anything inside of me. I do not know what it is that I am thinking or feeling. It is as if there is nothing. It’s not a scary nothingness, though. It just is. I am here, sat on this chair, with my fingers hovering over the keyboard, not thinking or feeling anything at all.
I am back to work today and everything feels strange. Strange noises, strange smells and people I don’t really recognize are surrounding me. I keep looking at the calendar trying to figure out if I have the right day. Perhaps I am not meant to be here. I also see it marked in pencil that I see T today. It feels odd to see it written there and yet feel nothing about it. The normal feelings of a therapy break (panic, fear and anxiousness) have given way to utter nothingness.
I’m not quite sure I’m wanting to go to my session today.
While something seems different, not wanting to return to therapy is not. It always happens when there is a break from T. The first session back I never seem to want to go or I go and just want him to sit with me for a little while in silence. The silence is somehow comforting and I can sink into the safety that it brings.
The break wasn’t easy. It’s never easy if I’m being honest. But this break seemed particularly difficult. Parts of it agonizing, really.
I received a text message Christmas Eve from the ex’s wife about how ‘my ungrateful son‘ ruined their Christmas with his behaviour. MY SON. Not her husband’s child, not our child, but mine. As though his behaviour was because of me and somehow my fault. As though I was supposed to do something about it, even though he wasn’t with me and under my care.
Christmas day was a blur and while I made it through the family dinner, it was anything but pleasant. I wasn’t feeling well and barely made any conversation with anyone.
A few days after Christmas, my son (who is 9) had a major meltdown all because the skating rink had a crack in it. This resulted in him punching, kicking and biting me followed by him pushing me into the closet door and saying ‘I hope you die, you fucking bitch‘. He did apologize without being told he had to which felt like progress in some ways, but the behaviour and level of rage was on a new level even for him.
It all just left me feeling hopeless.
I don’t really remember much of anything else happening during the last week or so other than the days feeling jumbled, the difficulty in keeping up with the time and everyone who was important to me feeling so far away.
I felt alone. Disconnected. Gone.
Today I still don’t feel ready to fully face the world. Not yet. Not right now. So for now I remain locked inside of my little cocoon. Away from the chaos that surrounds me. Where it feels safe for me to be.