I know, I said nothing about therapy yesterday.
Because I quit again.
And if I don't make it
Know that I loved you all along
Just like sunny days that
We ignore because
We're all dumb and jaded
And I hope to God I figure out what's wrong
And I hope to God I figure out what's wrong
I hope to God I figure out what's wrong
Don't say it.
I walked out less than a third of the way into the morning's festivities and around 15 minutes after that I noticed Jacob's shoes under the table where I sat staring into a cup of coffee in the window of our favorite little lunch spot downtown. I didn't look up, instead I picked imaginary fuzz off the lap of my vintage coat and tapped the toes of my boots slowly on the floor. I was gearing up to be lectured to like a runaway teenager but instead he held out his hand and asked me if I was ready to go home.
I spent about four hours anticipating the fatherly ultimatums, the inevitable lecture, the request for some cooperation, and instead I got a very wonderful kiss and I was held and he asked if I was planning to continue to take the medication.
And like a child testing their boundaries I said I might, that I wasn't sure.
He confirmed a surprising new lack of boundaries by not commenting on that and said that we needed to start packing because Friday morning is going to start very early and that the trip couldn't have come at a better time. I looked at him and asked him if this was running. He said it was nothing of the kind, instead it was simply a coincidence and that if we just hold our breath long maybe the hiccups in our new year will be over soon, that he's got to try something new because forcing me to go and sit there and be ripped apart in the name of healing isn't helping at all.
It took me forever to meet his eyes, and what I saw in them wasn't disappointment, it was relief. Relief that barely begins to ease my own guilt at letting him down because I can't get my head on straight. He told me to throw away my guilt, that we're just going to hold on tight and if I have a bad day, then it's a bad day and if it's good then the world is a beautiful place and now we're going to see what time and love is going to do for fragile miss Bridget. In my waiting for the other shoe to drop I didn't notice Jake had both feet already firmly planted on the floor.
He's a trained counselor. This is a highly unorthodox and unusual step for someone who has such a close interest in my health and happiness, for someone who is such a stickler for going by the book, for being proactive and aggressively trying to righten the world using a single hand. He's jumping with his eyes closed, which says more than I ever dreamed, maybe he trusts me after all.
He's giving me back my control and I'm floored by how this feels. It feels good. It feels normal. It feels a little risky to go in this direction right this moment, but that speaks louder than any words I could write about it.
When you mix light and dark your goal is to wind up with medium, and that's what I'd like. A happy medium.
