Today is Wednesday. I don't have any scheduled "must do's" today. A few unscheduled "must do's" and lots of "shoulds" however. I should go for a run, cause I don't have my kids this morning. I should go Christmas shopping because I don't want to wait in line for hours on the weekend. Plus a bunch of other shoulds.

One thing I'm not going to do is go for a run. If I was going to do that, I wouldn't be writing this now. I run when I can't unscramble my thoughts. My thoughts are kind of unscrambled after laying awake for 5 out my 9 hours in bed last night. Actually, I think I drifted off a few times, because every once in a while I would snap wide awake with another "aha" and my heart would start racing. Feels like I had a five hour therapy session in my head. So, that's why I'm writing this blog today. To get my thoughts down.

Why a blog? Because I can't get my thoughts down unless I think of it as a conversation, or lyrics to a song. I write for myself, so I can go back and re-read what I was thinking at a particular time. I write for my daughters - some day when they're grown up I may show them parts of this that I think may help them. Finally, I write to perhaps have some kind of impact on the world. To matter to somebody. To feel like if I died tomorrow, somebody would understand me, or perhaps care that I was gone. Maybe I can save somebody some agony by imparting some experience about going through the therapeutic process.

So - now to what was keeping me awake last night. Yesterday's therapy session was pretty intense. Most of them are, my therapist is very good at his job. He's very good at digging stuff out. So I started off by more fully answering his question from a few days ago, which was "did I get what I wanted out of crawling into bed beside my parents back when I was 4 years old?" The answer is "No." For some reason, I couldn't crawl in between them, so I just wedged myself onto the side of the bed by my Mom. But she didn't cuddle with me, just lay with her back to me. It was only a double bed, so not a lot of room. It was also unusually high, so when I got unceremoniously pushed out of bed and dumped on the floor, it resulted in a concussion. I woke up on the way to the hospital.

That led to a string of other thoughts, like: I don't remember my parents putting me to bed most nights. I just kissed them good night in the livingroom and went upstairs by myself. I know now that my Mom drank herself into oblivion most nights. My Dad was a workaholic. I didn't know that at the time. I thought we were a pretty normal family, other than their constant arguing. My Mom was so proud of the fact that she discovered how to handle my screaming rages. She put me down the back stairs, closed the door and left me there until I stopped. My recollection is, I could go on for up to an hour. No wonder she drank! And no wonder I have abandonment issues! I know now, that's not what you should do to a kid who is obviously so upset about something. (I've had lifelong depression).

So then I flipped over to discussing my relationship with my kids and how I handle their difficult moments. Well - for one thing, I don't drink, at least rarely more than one. I did put my "screamer" down the back stairs one time. But I've been told by their therapist to give "time ins" not "time outs" to settle them down. That is, bring them close and just hold them until they settle, because they have abandonment issues too. They don't always accept time ins, which is frustrating, then I try a million other strategies, which usually don't work.

I let them cuddle in bed with me on alternating nights. I know that means a lot to them. Sometimes it causes problems if we can't remember whose turn it is because they've been at their Dad's place for a few nights. Then we flip a coin.

So anyway, that seemed to be the perfect segue to mention that the next few months are going to get a bit dicey for me. I'm keeping the pressure on my ex to actually move forward with the divorce, and I have a feeling it's going to cost me dearly, not only money - but the feeling that he gets to violate me one last time before I get my freedom. I just dug out a piece of the Berlin wall that my Mom brought back from Germany soon after the wall came down. It is my metaphor for freedom. One man had the strength to do what was right, to ignore what others told him to do and a whole nation was freed. They did not have to buy their freedom. It just took one man one moral act.

IF I have another mediation meeting, I'm going to pull it out and place it on the table and tell that story to everybody in the room. Also, "Don't listen to the lawyers who would have you do what you know in your heart is so greedy, so immoral. Before they twisted your brain around, you were happy with 50/50, joint custody and no spousal support either way. Now you want more. Where is the morality in this? How do you justify it? Why must I buy my freedom? Be like that German. Do what's right." Anyway, it's my last shot, that's all I've got left.

Woops, seque got interrupted by having to explain what I mean by "dicey" which is: the prospect of having to buy my freedom back. Because that was the context in which I asked my therapist, "If it turns out that you are my ONLY support, and I come in here a total wreck, would you be open to just holding me so I can get some comfort?" Unfortunately he said "No". So I asked him, "No in general or no because of past discussions of E-transference, which I have recently told you I've purposely killed off?" He said "No, in general". Then he asked, "So how do you feel about that?" I said, "I was 50/50 in terms of expecting you to say yes or no, so I'm not entirely surprised."

Then I asked, "Do you trust me, ie: that my intentions are what I say they are?" He said "Yes, and No. I know you mean what you say but sometimes things occur that are not foreseeable. Being held would consitute an 'Acting out' of emotions and I would rather have you put them into words so we can deal with them." Then I said, "So it's not allowed?" and he said "That's right". Then "I'm surprised so many therapists allow it" and he said "So am I". So there you have it - hard core, by the book pure Freudian Psychoanalyst. I have to admit, although I am disappointed, it was a very reasonable answer. And I'm glad I asked it up front and not when I am in the depths of despair and likely to take it as a total rejection. Thanks to LaLa3 for that idea.

Well, this blog has gone on long enough and I haven't even got to what was keeping me awake last night! I guess I'll go put that in a separate blog because it doesn't have much to do with this one.