Therapy...part I

Needless to say, it's been a very rough month and a half.

In fact, to be brutally honest, I'm wrecked.  

I hate to admit that but it's true.Still in the ether of singlehood, and without direction or purpose.The only thing that has life in any sort of equilibrium is oddly enough my new job, and that too I hate to admit, though being focused on work has me distracted for at least eight hours every day. 

It's very bizarre to take sanctuary from my personal turmoil in my work but that's how things are shaking out these days.

God, how I miss her.

Use of a blog is often sketchy because though it is a personal thing, once you publish an entry it summarily becomes something that belongs to the entire planet but at this point I really don't care.  There's no one who I call a friend who wants to listen to my lonely heart bellyaching except to state that they "don't want to be involved".

Which brings me to the main topic of this entry...Therapy.

One of the points I was told to accomplish if I were to have any shot with her at all was to enroll myself in some type of therapy, meaning the psychological therapy.  In 20 years since the dissolution of my marriage my friendly relationship with my son's mother has inspired jealousy and awkwardness in several of my attempts at relationships over the years and in one way or the other caused them to terminate.

Including my current situation, though while to door is shut it isn't locked yet and it's one of a list of things I need to get done in order to right the ship and get back on track.

I hope.

I do welcome the opportunity to get things out in the open.  Back in 1999, wen my ex wife left me, I had considered it but was rebuffed by my parents and other saying that what had happened wasn't my fault and that therapy would in effect screw me up worse than it might help me.  That and youthful arrogance in the face of the injustice of having a marriage dissolve in the anticipation of a child being born.

Things have changed in the 20 years since that time, that is for sure, but always I have thought that maybe at some point down the road it might help.  I think part of the problem is that the thought of seeking help does have a stigma associated with it, that you are either mentally ill, depressed, or a combination of other factors.  

Time and age tend to lessen the ego's grip on that sort of thinking so in the face of this situation and the desire for it not to happen again...ever...leads me to this point.

Not to mention the most important part of all...

I want her back.