Wear and tear

Exhausting day. I was in tears even before he called me into his office. He asked me how I was doing and I said “not here.”
He grabbed two cups of coffee (tiny, next time I'll bring a mug), I picked an autumn leaf out of my hair and we sat down in a closet size office. “So tell me.”
Leaking tears, trying hard to keep the crying to a minimum, I told him about the questionnaire and how I’ll get a call next week to hear who my assigned psychologist will be.
I went on to say that my neighbours had gone for three weeks and that in this period I experienced so much quiet time and moments of peace that it opened up a space wherein hurt and grief were free to float up to the surface. I told him about my pond comparison. Stir around in the thick layers of crap and mud on the bottom and stuff comes floating up, and can be scooped off carefully. Little by little the water gets clearer.
But if you keep stirring it, the water stays muddy and disgusting. Those three weeks have done a lot for me, apparently. So has he.
I told him he represents a safe place for me. And he shouldn’t underestimate how important that is, since I’ve never had that before, not with my parents or anyone else. Now that I have the physiotherapist and my contact at social security, it’s time for all things moldy, crap and decayed to start floating up to the surface (had a dream about rotting corpses again last night).
“Anyway,” I told him, nearly exhausted after only ten minutes, "that’s why it’s a positive thing that I’m crying all the time when I’m with you, it means I feel safe. The safety creates a space for things to loosen up and be released; I can let go. It’s a compliment to you.” So he took it as a compliment that I was crying my eyes out.
I thanked him and asked for another cup of coffee (I can’t help it, they were tiny).
I told him some stuff about my past and family and he listened, which was amazing. Not many people are capable of listening.
I needed that second cup of coffee to keep me steady because I was literally shaking in my boots. My knees were weak, my legs felt like pudding and I carefully walked outside to my bike, fiddling with the lock trying to postpone having to stand up without support.
I was so tired I felt like sleeping even though it was early afternoon, so I walked for some time, bike in hand. Took me a few bags of chocolates and two croissants before I felt able to do my work at the radio station. At home I had to lie down, so I made my trusty bed next to the radiator and listened to Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros for an hour, in the dark. I was cold and so, so tired.
It wore me out, but, as I told my contact, that’s a positive thing. There’s so much stuff all pent up inside of me, it’s way better and healthier for it to come out, even if that means roaming the streets all teary eyed and weak in the knees.
The fear didn’t diminish alas. This morning it was a cold hard clump in my belly, very bad. Fear is an omnipresence lately.
What a difference between that cold hard clump and the soft sweet peace of my quiet times in the garden. I hope there’s a porch in my future. Told The Man hope for the future is all that keeps me going.
What a day. Wish I could sit beneath the stars with a cup of decaf, to finish it in style, but I guess this will have to do. All in all I think this was a good day, even though it didn’t feel like it.