Night before last...meltdown.
Meltdown #32? #33? Who can remember?
The night before last Chris comes home after his first long, craptastic day of the week (and, rather inconveniently it's Monday, so there are at least four more long crappy days to come) to find me puttering the kitchen, no dinner yet prepared, looking...pitiful.
"What's up?" he asks me. And then, "How'd work go today?"
And before I know it I'm absolutely bawling into his shoulder.
Bawling and sobbing.
Like I haven't sobbed in a long time.
And then last night, after another completely craptastic day at his job, Chris says to his still depressed wife, "I guess it's been easier for me. I mean, not easier, but I've been able to just say to myself, 'OK, that didn't work out' and then I let it all go. I've been able to move forward. It seems like you haven't been able to do that yet."
My head says to move forward, but my heart...not so much.
I've promised my husband that I'm going to make an appointment with my therapist.
As much as I don't want to re-hash the entire adoption-falling-apart-at-the-last-minute for her (I haven't been to see her since December...), it looks like I'm going to have to. I don't seem to be working through my grief. It sneaks up on my at the worst times. Stealthily. I'll feel fine and then...BLAM!
Nausea, upset stomach, headache, tears, no energy, no appetite, depression, misery.
It's just so stupid.
I need to get over this and move on.
When will it happen?