You thought you wanted to know

So far this evening, you’ve had an orange, chocolate sprinkled nonpareils, and you just finished watching an episode of NCIS. You even looked up the best keyboard case for an Ipad mini 4. An important question–Do you even own an Ipad mini 4? No, you do not. But, you learned the best keyboard case is from logitech.

Why all the procrastination?

You do not know how to write about devastation. You only know how it feels, but you cannot tell anyone what it is.

This devastation cannot be named, described, nor can it be identified. You only know that some people from your past make you want to run, and hide and disappear. But, you do not now why. All you know is how you feel.

There’s also a devastation in seeing friends from high school on Facebook, and knowing you were friends with them, but you do not know why or how you became friends. You only know you were friends because when you see their name you smile, and feel warm inside. You finally admit all this to one particular friend you feel most at ease with. She is supportive, and proceeds to tell you how the two of you became friends. It was in Honors English in high school, and you both shared a love of books and writing. She tells you stories about your senior Honors English teacher, and how you asked her to suggest additional books to you, and that you were the best writer in class.

You knock your memory bank around in your head trying to find the story she’s telling you, a story that you lived. But, it’s not there. No matter how hard you close your eyes, concentrate, and try to find the memories of knowing this friend, alas, the memories are not there. You thought this would be a happy thing, hearing about your friendship with this person. But, it brings a sadness you do not expect.

You always wanted someone to accept you as you are, have the ability to hear about you as you. But your heart cannot hear about happy stories you lived that you cannot recall. You thought this was a good idea, but instead it’s your own secret devastation.

Today’s post is written in response to Today’s Daily Prompt.

The Kitchen

I ate the entire box of pierogies.

That’s not how it was supposed to happen, but then isn’t that what we would say about us?

Since our parting on Saturday I’ve just flitted in and out of the kitchen. I can’t linger there too long because you’re everywhere in that space … the two kinds of cocoa, the velcro cake pan straps, the cast iron lodge pan, the cleaned out pantry …

Here I sit listening to the Dixie Chicks “Hello Mr. Heartache” while I polish off the pierogies with the damn cherry lemon seltzers you convinced me to buy. I did not want to buy them. I insisted that lime goes with cherry, not lemon. Besides, I didn’t want to carry a case of them all the way to my 3rd floor apartment. You were convinced that lemon did go with cherry, they were on sale with a coupon on top of that, and you offered to carry the case into my apartment. And now it’s my favorite drink. I never did tell you that you were right. Lemon does go with cherry. It was a good buy, and thank you for carrying the case into my apartment. There are only two cans of cherry lemon seltzer remaining. I keep telling myself to stop drinking them, make them last. But I drink them anyway. I like them, and I like remembering the first time I drank it. You gave me the first sip from your can, and I looked at you after I drank it and said, “Oh my god, that’s good! Wow. New favorite drink!” I raised the drink in the air, and you did that thing with your eyebrows when you’re right about something. You move them up and down. You’re all proud of yourself that you were right, and I’m going ape shit over a new favorite drink. Couple of weirdos if you ask me.

The pierogies were meant for two people. We would usually saute some onions and put sour cream on top. I dispensed with all that, and just ate them plain over an entire evening tonight. The pierogies have mashed potatoes in them, and I found myself recalling you there in my kitchen making mashed potato casserole for thanksgiving. I see you there making that crazy fatty dijon mustard, half and half concoction that went into the mashed potato casserole. It was strangely good. You were all mashed potato casserole, and you hit that one out of the park.

I’m eating out tomorrow night.

therapist casting call

The need for a new therapist leads to the inevitable therapist auditions. You start out with the false notion that you’re Broadway, and you can snag an Idina Menzel or Sutton Foster. It does not take long for reality to reveal itself to you. You are, indeed, not the Great White Way. Heck, you are not even a LORT theatre on the regional theatre circuit. You’re more akin to a summer stock theatre in the backwoods of northern Vermont, far from any amenities that A list or even B list actors are accustomed to having.

Such is the quest for a therapist when one has dissociative identity disorder (DID). You need an Idina Menzel or a Sutton Foster, but you’re summer stock in the far reaches of Vermont, and you are not going to find such a person. You look at your options, and think, shit, I should move. But let’s be real. You’re ensconced where you live with your career, apartment, gym, tea shop, etc. Plus, you know you’re not up for a geographical move. It’s not an option. Instead, your therapist options are limited.

Like all good theatre directors that make the most of their meager options, you choose the one with the most positive energy. That’s the only distinguishing factor since all 3 are equally credentialed. If this was Broadway, off-Broadway or even a LORT theatre she wouldn’t get a call back. But this is the dregs of summer stock, so you make the most of it, and she gets the part of Therapist. She’s thrilled, and you’re shamefully resigned.

It’s clear to you that you’re the jerk in this situation. No doubt. And the saddest part is that you don’t care. You’ve run out of patience with therapists that you have to manage. You should not have to be the one with the consistent wise mind time and time again.

But then you see that all out effort she’s putting forth, and you know she’s trying her best, and putting her best foot forward. But it is what it is, and a best fit it is not. You have to make the most of the situation. You’ve seen the gamut of DID therapists out there. This is the best of the lot. You are not going to find Idina or Sutton. This is it, so make the most of it.