Andrei Freeman (lordandrei) wrote,
Andrei Freeman

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Dear gods, it's so hard...

So yes... yesterday being Monday I got to talk to the Psychiatrist.

I'm taking today off from work. I wasn't feeling well this morning and knew I had to take some time to myself. Fortunately, I have the time available.

Yesterday's session was hard. We talked about the fact that my relationships are tied to things and events rather than people. My social circles are tied to my groups, "OTO", "SCA", even Con-ning. He asked if I hung out with the guys at all. I explained that I'm not much of a beer drinker. I commented that I feel comfortable around other people who could be defined as 'social mitfits.' Personally, I think we all are to some degree or another.

The conversation started when I got onto my problem with 'the boxes.' I've mentioned it a few times. I guess I should finally get some detail down to face it myself. When I ended my six year relationship the woman I was with moved back to the Eastern U.S. She didn't have the means to transport most of her stuff back. I said I'd help her do it. Since then, I have lived with her stuff. Mostly in boxes that have been moved from place to place. My bedroom is a disaster area. In truth, I think it's always been like that. I commented on this in greater detail in my jorunal over the weekend.

I sit here typing at the moment because I actually just suffered what I guess I could term a panic attack. I guess. I don't know. I'm not a professional. I've been trying to chip away at my bedroom today. It's gone horrendously slowly. I pulled about 5 boxes out. Dr. S. suggested I try starting small. My bed currently has books, comics, papers, that had been strewn. All the laundry is moving into my bathroom. The attack came from something in the closet. Something silly, and yet...even as I start to type it, I feel myself tensing up and my heart starting to race.

In the closet were some epmty boxes from Celestial Seasonings. I brew tea. I hate coffee. I try it about once every 5 years to remind myself if it's me or just some self perpetuated memory. Usually the smell/taste send me right back into revulsion. (Note, I try Windows more often than I try coffee) {I send that last comment to a co-worker who loves to tease me about my anti-PC nature} But again... I digress.

The boxes are the artistc ones. I've been collecting them. Now, for the lif of me, I can't remember if I'm collecting them for me or if "C" got me started collecting them for her. None-the-less, I had a pile of them cluttering my closet shelf. I think I have more in the kitchen closet. (My heart races a little again; it's the kind of racing you get when you want to ask her out but you're not sure if you should) I went to grab the first box off the shelf.

Digression again... I've been coming to terms with the fact that everyone has inner voices. To me, the little though processes given voice have always made me doubt my own sanity. Aparently, it's normal as long as they don't run your life for you. Which opens a whole other philosphical can of worms. And I say again, "Andrei, not the topic at hand."

Two voices in my head went into dialogue:
"You can't throw that out. You're saving it."
"Saving it for what?"
(I start to take a box down and break it apart at its glue points to fit it in the garbage bag.)
"You may need it some day"
"No, I haven't needed it since I moved in here or for months before..."
(I start throwing them in the bag more quickly)

{currently messing around with formatting and colour, all voices are telling me to get on with it}

My heart starts racing once they're all in the bag... I come out and look for someone online to talk to. I feel all knotted up, like I'm destroying something. I not supposed to have emotional ties to "C" anymore. Maybe I see what was in the relationship in the big boxes. Maybe I just can't let go. Each little box shouldn't feel like a stab to the heart. It's clutter. I don't even know if it's my clutter. And putting them in the bag hurts. And I feel just a little bit uneasy and slightly unstable for feeling that way about a bunch of tea boxes.

I have a bunch of boxes now in my living room. They belong to her. If throwing out tea boxes has made me all knotted up... how am I going to have the strength to take these out the door?

And now I find myself typing here... wondering if I'm just typing to avoid going back in the bedroom. Back to the trash bag with the boxes in it.

I can feel it in the pit of my chest. This isn't supposed to be this hard.

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