I decided to leave a little later for work this AM because I have
to stop at the bank on the way to work and it doesn’t open until
9am. In my usual swift way, I set up a payment to my credit card
from the wrong checking account so now I have to go and deposit a check
from one checking account to the other to make sure it’s covered…
duh. Our stupid car wouldn’t start and repairs cost $600.
Thank God we had the money in one account, but the place doesn’t
take checks so I had to charge it and I wanted to pay it right away
because we’re the kind who’ll spend the money and still have the
charge… you know how it is (or maybe you don’t because I always
picture the rest of the world as being responsible and us as being the
only irresponsible ones .
Anyway, of course leaving later, how do I decide to kill time? Praying?
Doing devotions? Catching up with my Bible reading? Nope, none of those
things… I decide to come in to Open Diary and catch up with my
buddies. Oh well… I just can’t help it. OD always perks me up.
It’s like getting together with friends any time you want, even if you
only have a few minutes. (The few minutes always stretches into
at least a half-hour though — at least for me because I have so many
favorites and also because the posts on the front page often catch my
I’m still sort of reeling a bit from yesterday’s therapy session.
I wish I could write about it… heck, I wish I could talk about it,
anything… but that’s why I’m in therapy, because I am choked
emotionally and every other way when it comes to some of these
things. I feel shame, guilt, and complicity with my own
victimization and it’s difficult enough to even share that. Big
step right there. Ugh, what a mess can be made when a person is
sexually abused. It’s a whole complex twist of emotions and physical
sensations and judgments that stay with one throughout their lives and
festers until it becomes like a huge permanent monster reaching into
all sorts of areas of one’s mind and affecting so many facets of one’s
personality and the thing that enrages me is it was all so somebody
could satisfy ONE physical need. Or was it? Perhaps there
was some sick emotional need to, but… ugh, I’m making myself sick
with this whole train of thought. I’m making myself sick,
enraged, and upset. When I start thinking about this stuff my
actual physiology changes. My body temperature rises and I can feel my
heart begin to race and my breath get shorter.
I didn’t come in here to talk about this… I came in here to wish everybody Happy St. Patrick’s Day!!