I'm in a rage. A white hot just on the verge of being out of control rage.
I'm caught in a tight spot, between the proverbial rock and a hard place.
And it's a terrible combination.
My husband and I are having serious marital issues. They may or may not be fixable. We had our first counseling session Thursday morning. Those are the bare bones facts.
And now here are the emotions. I had forgotten how therapy works. You go in for an appointment, you open up wound after wound for an hour or so...and then the appointment is over. And then what? The FG asked just that. Now what? Do you hash out everything that just got said or do you go to your own corners and lick your wounds until the next appointment? Will it be made worse by discussing what was said or will it be made better? Can it be made worse?
Can it be made better?
All I know right now is that I am in serious vent mode. I can feel the fury running through my veins and I know it isn't a good thing. But what to do? Ah...enter the rock and the hard place.
The obvious answer is to pick up the phone and call someone. A friend. Someone who will listen and say the right things and comfort me as much as possible in ways that I need to be comforted. Obviously a good friend is called for. And I have good friends. I'm blessed with good friends. What I'm not blessed with is the ability to reach out for help. I am really good at listening to other people's problems and being there for them. But it's excruciating for me to ask someone to be there for me. Especially when I convince myself that there's a good reason for not calling all of the people I trust enough to talk to about this.
There's the friend whose own marriage is hanging by a thread.
There's the friend who is unexpectedly battling a major health issue.
There's the friend whose job is -literally- ruining her life.
There's my mother who would freak.
There's my sister-in-law who is painfully putting her own marriage back together.
There are the friends thousands of miles away who have such long and stable marriages that they'd never understand.
And there's my own impulse, which is to bolt the doors and not let anyone in. I should be rallying the troops, but I don't. I play a lone hand. This is my crisis mode. I shut down. I don't answer the phone. I ignore emails. I don't reach out. I piss off plenty of people in the process. (I didn't pick the name Rotten Correspondent for nothing, you know).
Of course there is the blog. I could certainly vent in the blog. It would seem tailor made for something like this. Isn't the beauty of a blog that you can be honest and yourself because it's (kind of) anonymous? I suppose if I didn't mind driving you all away I could just let loose.
Oh, wait a sec. Are we talking about the blog that my husband reads?
Back to the drawing board.
I'm fully aware that the argument could be made that throwing this out there in this way is a cry for help, so to speak. And I completely understand that if I hit Publish on this baby I'd better have picked up a phone first.
I understand it perfectly. It's doing it that's the problem.
Postscript: Stepped out of comfort zone. Venting in progress. Cry for help answered. Yay.