Therapy was lovely this morning as I slid into the hole and hung on by the tips of my aching fingers to Jacob's hands.
Today they talked about stupid things like electroshock therapy to try and scare me. They scared Jake, I'm not scared, he'd never sign off on that and he's in charge. I believe they think I'll snap out of it if they use threats. Smarten up, girl. Ha. Jesus Christ, this is ridiculous. I was fine until Cole died and then I fell apart and that's all there is to it. I can't collect my shit together anymore and I can't figure out why. Well, yes I can. Because the fun never stops. Because instead of a giant stressful event every two years they now seem to come every two weeks. That or I just can't manage life anymore. I can't manage anything anymore, but the writing, well, the writing goes along swimmingly, thanks for asking. Sort of like how the best songs are written while heroin is in heavy use. There's a reason for that.
For those of you blaming me for being this way, please know, I don't want to be this way, I know it isn't right, and yes, Cole did do it. It's a result of his abuse, which I've barely discussed here, hell, I've barely discussed anything here. Don't try and diagnose me over your computer. You'll fail.
Today I was called on my trust issues and Jacob got to blow off a lot of steam and calmly yell at me in a controlled, supervised environment. Which is better than at home. They always side with him and put a wall up between us and send us back to our corners and then we spend the afternoon tearing the wall back down until we can be nose to nose again and it makes things harder.
He pulled me out of the hole and we left the office an hour later after having worked some things out. Mainly, that no one's electrocuting Bridget.
Today we tore the wall down in the truck, soaked because it started raining again (better than snow) and we weren't prepared. He threw my wet mittens into the back and kissed me and told me I wasn't being fair and I can call him every name in the book but I cannot doubt him, ever. That I'm his life and I will be his life, forever.
Cue melted princess, who stopped going under long enough to really appreciate that exchange.
I live for those moments. He has come to believe they're no longer necessary, that I should know by now but I still need them.
He insists that I will be fine and he knows damn well that I'm working and I'm working against myself and it's such a hard road and it's sucking to be with me but he loves me.
I think all this does in the end is positively cement the idea of my needing rescue. Look! She's not just fucked up, she's Fucked Up. Enjoy, Jake!
Be careful what you wish for, they say.
He has decided to extend the no contact orders to include Ben. So I can get better in peace. They're all busy engineering a city-sized rubber room so that I can bounce around and not get hurt. This should be interesting.
We came home, got the kids and made lunch, took them back and now. he's. singing. Gravedancer. at. the. top. of. his. lungs. On purpose. I feel better. It sounds awesome.
His last band mostly covered Stone Temple Pilots tunes, so that's a given. He does a good Scott Weiland.
