Friday, May 14, 2004

Grief and loathing on the Sunset strip So as all two of my loyal readers know, this has been a hard mass of days for me. I am still marching through them wondering when I'm going to awaken from an hallucinatory, if not downright bad, dream, wherein my beloved shrink is dead, my husband doesn't know what he wants, I can't seem to get pregnant even if I wanted to, and, and, and. Am I full of self-pity? Damn right I am. And as a result, I cannot turn on the television for even a second for fear of seeing pictures of the humiliated Iraqi prisoners, whose suffering not only makes mine look like a papercut, but serves as a festering reminder of everything--EVERYTHING--that I fear may be irreparably wrong, broken, in or society. Sounds melodramatic, but it might just be realism. A wise friend suggested that my grief over losing my therapist is completely founded--it is, after all, one of the more intimate relationships in your life. True. But also ephemeral--it takes place in a fixed space, one which has no other relevance, no other use, in my life. It is completely regular--I saw her one hour per week, always the same hour, the same day. And no one else in my life knew her, or was privy to our relationship. It's hyperbolic, I'm sure, but it's a bit like having a secret lover--without the sex or the shame, at least in my case. But not only will I never see her again, I'll never visit that physical space again--and thus, it feels a bit like a dream, from which I've awakened, and am already losing bits and pieces of detail with every passing day. 3:08:22 PM     comment []