The needle was sunk deep into my ass and the plunger wouldn’t work. I was twisted as far around as I could go, manhandling the Voltaren syringe now dangling from my butt, and all I wanted was to shout for someone to come and help me. But I had to figure it out because I’m alone and only I could fix this.
And fix it I did, but this time it hurt. The indignity of my vulnerability brought me to tears. Although, in my current state of depression, pretty much everything brings me to tears – every day. And so I cried because the injection hurt. And I cried because yesterday, as so often happens, I passed my ex-husband in traffic and he didn’t notice me. It was a metaphor for our marriage – I was as invisible to him now as I was then.
I cried for the loss of Lover, a stranger I never knew, who’s abuse has changed me at such a fundamental level I know I will never be the same again. I cried over every other man who had mistreated me, abused me, raped me. Every friend who has discarded me, every colleague who has judged me. I cried because my father loves money and appearances more than he loves me. And, as always when I cry, I cried for the loss of my mother and her abandonment by chosing suicide. I just curled into a heap and cried snot and tears and emotional anguish.But, as much as I am resistant to see a psychologist, at the insistence of my doc I have made an appointment for Thursday next week. I have no doubt I will cry some more. But, perhaps the pain can be channeled into some healing of sorts? I dunno. I’m kind of giving up.