I've made the decision to go back into therapy. wait, let me rephrase: I have not only made that decision, but have followed up on it by taking the necessary action to create the desired result, by calling my old psychologist and leaving a message.
"hi, malinda? this is victoria, either schultz or vanbruinisse, I don't know which you remember me by, and, well, I don't know if you like, deal with stuff, that's not like, you know, just marriage stuff, but, I'm divorced now, and I'm - well, I'm not like, getting out of bed in the morning, and I think I need to come and talk to you." or something to that effect.
my cell phone rings about ten minutes later.
"hi, victoria?"
"yes."
"it's malinda."
"oh, hi! can I come and see you?"
"you sure can. when's good for you?"
(crying) "um, soon. soon would be good."
we settled on wednesday at 9 am. (not so) coincidentally I established march 1st as my official "get back on track" day. gym schedule, weight watchers, the whole thing. I'm tired of flip flopping and not taking care of myself. anything worth having is worth fighting for, and I've got to fight for my health. especially moreso now that my mom really isn't taking care of herself very well, and - I hate to even write these words - that I don't want to wind up like she is. I don't care if I have to go on medication for the next fifty years or eat broccoli every day, but I don't want to be afraid to leave my house, and I don't want to let myself slip away because of some unnamed fear. I mean, I don't know what it's like to be in her shoes, and maybe I'd be doing the same thing if I was, so I'm not trying to take shots at her or anything, but I'm not. in her shoes, that is. I can be healthy and fit and happy and as productive as I can, normal emoting over whatever life happens to hand me notwithstanding.
I'll be back with more details on wednesday.
kisses,
~vvb
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