Issues Galore

BC: Hi, My name is Buttercup and this is not a cry for help.

Peanut Gallery: Hi Buttercup!

BC: Today, I went to an after-work cocktail event and I had two glasses of wine and lots of green jelly beans (they were free and lying around everywhere). Immediately after downing my second glass of wine, I jumped into a cab and headed uptown for therapy.

Peanut Gallery: Ohhh...

BC: I was buzzed which was bad enough, but what was even worse was that at the event I had played a game and won a huge bottle of organic vodka. It was organic! So, not only did I show up at therapy buzzed, but I was also carrying a large bottle of vodka with me. My therapist asked whether it was a cry for help.

Peanut Gallery: Was it?

BC: No! I told Therapist that of course it wasn't a cry for help; my issue is food, not alcohol. Duh. But, then a few minutes later I started to cry and Therapist asked me whether I was going to remember our discussion tomorrow. I reminded her that I had only had two glasses of wine and told her that I was way less inebriated than she seemed to think I was. The problem is that in those situations any attempts at denial just make you look worse.

Peanut Gallery: *collectively nodding sagely*

BC: Therapist tried to get me back on track by asking me what had been kicked up for me related to food during the past few weeks that had made me start rebelling. I summoned all my powers of focus and tried to think of all the things I had been thinking I should tell Therapist during the last few days. I ended up telling therapist that I felt sad and like I had no one in the universe who was there for just me. *glaring at Peanut Gallery*

Peanut Gallery: What? Continue.

BC: I told Therapist, after warning her several times that I was about to tell her the most corny thing she had ever heard, about a story I had read somewhere - perhaps some Buddhist script or possibly some random piece of internet trash - that explains the struggle of human existence like this: Each soul is born with half of a heart and spends their life longing for and seeking their other half. I said -

Peanut Gallery: Yes?

BC: I said that sometimes that theory on human existence, suffering, and love made sense to me. Sometimes, I feel like I'm missing something. Sometimes, I feel more powerfully than other times that I would like someone to be there just for me, and I would like to be that someone for someone else.

Peanut Gallery: Um hmm...

BC: We talked some more about dating, and food issues, and how at the moment - possibly exacerbated by the fact that alcohol is a depressant - I felt sad and wanted to binge on chocolate. Therapist suggested that perhaps I could weigh whether the value I would get from binging was worth it to me. She also suggested that I consider calling someone I love as I had just talked about the importance of connecting with those I care about, and how relationships are the most important things in life.

Peanut Gallery: And?

BC: So, I muttered that I would think about it, gathered my resolve, felt ridiculous for contemplating a drunken binge immediately after therapy, left the building cradling my enormous bottle of vodka, and called Bean. We talked for 40 minutes, and it was good and we laughed a lot, and then my phone died. Then, I had some frozen grapes which made my teeth hurt. But, I didn't have chocolate because I didn't need it because Bean had made me feel better.

Peanut Gallery: Good work.

BC: Eh.

Skater Chick

When asked when it was that I first met her, I couldn't say at first. I couldn't think of a time when she hadn't been present in my life, but I couldn't remember when she had first entered it. I don't really remember her in elementary school, but I'm sure she was there, somewhere lurking, perhaps waiting to pull me outside to play. Or maybe not? I was a relatively serious kid, mature for my age, and very focused. I didn't really have space in between school, after-school activities, baby-sitting, and hanging out with my friends for a punk, teen-aged skater-chick with short spiky hair and baggy pants who just wanted to have fun, chill out and relax. She would have been very different from the girl I was back then.

My earliest memories of her are from middle school. I spent lazy afternoons watching soaps, making meringues, and devouring books one after the next, when I should have been working on papers, reading "assigned" books, or studying for tests. I did things last minute, and I did them well, and she helped me.

It was her idea to stand out in the snow in bare feet early in the morning to get a chill, so that I would have an excuse to stay home from school for just a few extra hours on the days that papers were due. She convinced me that I didn't need to start writing until midnight, and she was proved right when I got one good grade after the next after staying up all night. She brought me packs of spearmint trident gum, smarties, neccos, M&Ms, diet cokes, pizza, coffee, and anything else I needed to stay motivated; anything else I needed to make the final push - the only push - bearable. She made cramming fun, and I did well at the cramming, so the system worked.

Through middle school, high school, and college, she was an unquestionable ally. Infrequently seen amidst my schedule of studying, waiting tables, and (in college) partying, she pulled me away from my work when I needed her to. She was resourceful, imaginative, and very persuasive, and she came up with amazingly creative ways to buy me more time to do the things she and I both wanted to do.

The relationship worked so well for so many years. I was grounded, focused and (felt) very much in control (of everything). Giving in to her whims was something I could easily afford. Sometimes, following her lead brought me temporary moments of stress, but I worked well under pressure, always got everything done, always did well, and with her also had time to experience life and have fun. It seemed like a perfect, balanced match, and for the longest time I never questioned it. She was just a part of my experience, someone who forced me to carve out space to enjoy life when I was least able to do that.

If I'm completely honest, I think the relationship worked as well as it did because she had less influence back then. She was a constant presence, an always willing partner in crime. But, back then I wasn't all that into rebelling against what was expected of me, because I expected it of myself. I was my own worst task master. Back then, she provided a welcome respite. She was the bad influence that was good for me, because I was so focused and in control that the risk of me falling prey to any influence, bad or good, in more than a passing fashion was such a remote possibility.

Back then, I felt so in control that the idea of being "out of control" never crossed my mind. Granted, that was before I turned 30, before ice cream started stick to my body, before a series of relationships self-combusted, before two dream jobs turned nightmarish, before I had really loved, and before I had lost anything precious to me. It was before I grew up and realized how much of life is completely out of my control.

I had goals, dreams, an unswerving belief in myself and the future, insulating walls around my heart and body, and a clear path that I followed unerringly. I was disciplined, diligent, and wholly determined to succeed. It would have taken far more then one teen-aged skater chick to lead me astray. At 12 and 18, I was so much more together than her.

Now, not so much.

Spider Solitaire Will Be The Death Of Me

About a year and a half ago, around the time that I had just gotten back together with EXBF (Part II), when I was really struggling with my job and feeling depressed, I decided to go on the anti-depressant Lexipro. I didn't notice anything at first, but after a few weeks I realized that I had gotten into the habit of playing spider solitaire. I don't mean just a few games. I mean playing games and games of spider solitaire for hours at a time. I remember one night where I played almost 4 hours. I kept losing and trying again, or winning and trying to beat my score. This was before blogging and knitting, and before I understood how to identify when I was feeling anxious.

After a couple of weeks, I happened to mention to CG what had been going on. She was immediately interested in my sudden change of behavior, a change that had corresponded with going on the medication. Prior to Lexipro, I had played spider solitaire on occasion, but usually only when I was visiting my Dad in Texas. It's an addictive and competitive game and he loves it. During that time, when I got totally hooked, I was really anxious. I was so stressed out about work that I couldn't really work. I was overwhelmed and instead of tackling each piece step by step, I played spider solitaire and ate up hours of my days. I'm not sure if it was the stress or the Lexipro that was responsible for all the solitaire playing, but I do know that the Lexipro didn't help matters. Soon after discussing it with CG, I went off of it and my solitaire playing calmed down.

Since then, I've been off and on another low-dose anti-depressant from time to time. I'm not a fan of taking pills, and I believe firmly in the idea of working through problems in therapy, as opposed to drugging oneself, as a long-term solution. However, after trying medication this past year, I now understand the benefits of medication. Not as a long-term solution, but as a temporary solution that can help you work through all of the junk you need to in order to get to a better psychological and emotional place.

One of my friends recently said, while we were discussing the topic of medication, that she would not want to be drugged in order to deal with her problems. Her view of medication, I think, is that it temporarily eliminates feelings, and creates an alternate, less stressful or less painful, make-believe reality. From that perspective, medication is not something that helps one deal with reality, but rather something that hides truth under a layer of artifice.

I was afraid of something similar when I first tried medication, and in the early months I questioned how I was experiencing being on medication all the time. For example, when I felt less anxious and less sad, I doubted my feelings and talked to CG about my fears that what I was feeling was not real. I worried that I was "not sad" not because I was actually happy, but because I was on drugs. It was a scary thought because I don't want to live my life in a delusional la-la land, and I certainly didn't want to be figuring out serious life issues like the fate of my relationship and my career with emotional blinders on.

When EXBF and I broke up, I had just recently gone back on an anti-depressant. Between all of my problems with him, and all of the stress from my job, I had been in a bad place and I had been crying on an almost weekly basis - usually because of things he had done that made me feel insignificant and unimportant. One of the things I'm still angry about is that he kept hurting me, even though he saw what his actions were doing to me. He was so selfish and unkind. But that's a different subject. I'm glad I was on an anti-depressant during the break-up because, looking back on it now, I realize how fragile and vulnerable I was at the time. Thankfully, I had a lot of support, mainly from my family and friends. But, therapy and medication were also a part of that support.

At no point have I felt like being on medication has dulled or obscured any of my true feelings. It hasn't irrevocably changed me, turned me into someone else, or blinded me to things in my life that are a source of happiness or pain. I was on medication when EXBF and I broke up but I still cried for weeks. I still felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest when I thought about losing the future I had thought we would share. The medication also didn't stop me from getting annoyed and angry with my brothers over Christmas when they drank too much, getting sad for one of my friend's recent losses, or feeling a ton of anxiety about work. Nor has it stopped me from feeling incredibly happy about all of the positive changes going on in my life, and all of the wonderful people I'm lucky enough to have in my corner.

The medication helps me muddle through my emotions, and helps me keep my anxiety in check, but it doesn't eliminate anything. Everything I would feel were I not on medication is still there, and I still feel it. That's why, on occasion, I find myself picking up my mouse and starting up another marathon game of spider solitaire, as I did tonight.

This afternoon, I learned that I had received an offer from the law firm that I liked the best (Bachelor #1). The firm will want an answer by 3 weeks at the latest, so suddenly I'm back to having a countdown. If I decide to go with this firm, I will give my two weeks notice in less than 21 days. I could give my two-weeks notice next week if I wanted to. Initially, when I got the call, I treated it like I usually do really good news: I felt relieved. A few minutes later, I felt a rush of elation and started thinking, I'm almost free!!! Then, a few hours later, the feelings of panic and uncertainty set in.

In addition, I have to admit that the dating thing is also making me feel a little anxious. What about if I actually end up liking someone? Do you understand that my heart is still crushed? Although in practice (so far) dating has been fun, no one knows what's going to happen. Likewise, no one knows what's going to happen in this new job, in the event that I decide to take it. It could be a wise choice, or it could be a stupid one, but there's no way to know except to just do it. It's intensely nerve wracking. Where are the spinners of my destiny when I need them to drop me a few hints?

So there you have it. I'm slightly anxious about the idea of dating, and I'm really anxious about making a change at my job, even though a part of me has wanted to leave for over 2 years. Even though everything is going well, and I'm making great progress, I'm so anxious that I've been playing spider solitaire, in my chilly bedroom, for over an hour and a half while the TV is playing downstairs. Clearly, I need to be more heavily medicated. That, or I need to start going to yoga on a regular basis, get a new book, buy those 7-sized knitting needles so that I can start my new project, or go to the gym instead of waiting for the handymen who don't show up to repair my skylight.

I know what CG is going to say already. She's going say, "Change is very stressful; even good changes bring stress. Don't you think it makes sense that you were feeling a little anxious once you found out that you were going to have to make a decision about a new firm?" She's so smart.

For tomorrow: Pilates, running, another interview, a NEW LOST (!!!!!), and no spider solitaire.

A Few More Weeks (and Weeks) Only

Movies: Glad you all enjoyed the eye candy! Incidentally, I almost didn't go to see "Stomp the Yard" because Rotten Tomatoes, a site for film reviews, ratings, and schedules, gave them a big fat "splat." Normally, I like RT's reviews, but in this instance they did not give the movie enough credit.

They also gave "Dreamgirls" way too much credit in my opinion, giving it an 80% approval rating. Apparently everyone, including my mom, loved Dreamgirls except for me. Not that I hated it; I just didn't love it. True, Jennifer Hudson can sing, even to herself at the top of her lungs in an empty theater (a little awkward), and true, some of the music was great (like Beyonce's disco version of "One Night Only" which I've had in my head since last night). But, it would have been so much more powerful had there been less musical cheese and more drama in between numbers. For example, I was cringing in my site, mortified for the actors and actresses, while watching them croon to one another, "We are a family... like a giant tree..." Too much Kraft, not enough substance. I give it a 3 (on a 5 point scale). "Stomp the Yard," of course, gets a 4.5 for obvious reasons.

A Totally Unconnected Realization: An interesting thing happened at therapy last night, I realized that I was acting like an adolescent in regards to my attitude about doing work for Dragon Lady. For weeks, I've been internally, and sometimes externally, ranting and raving about what a bi-atch DL is and how I simply can not bear to do the work I'm supposed to do for her. Last Friday, when she left me a nasty message ordering me to finish some summaries for her, my immediate reaction was "Eff her! How dare she be so nasty to me." Then, pissed, I procrastinated and didn't do her work for most of the weekend. Served her right!... Um, no.

Basically, my attitude was, "Eff you, DL, you're not the boss of me!" Accept, of course, DL is the boss of me (for now), and the only thing I was accomplishing through my adolescent-esque rebellion was stressing myself out and giving myself mini-panic attacks. As an admitted over-achiever (at least prior to this year at the firm when I started actively pushing off as much work as possible in the interests of self-protection), leaving work unfinished does not sit well with me. I can procrastinate like nobody's business, but when it comes down to deadlines, I usually get everything done on time, and I usually get it done well. (It's nice how the firms crush that desire to do work well out of associates, isn't it? But that's a post for another time).

Here's what CG suggested last night: Clearing things off my plate is a way to take care of myself. Conversely, procrastinating and keeping things on my plate is not taking care of myself; rather, it's a way of causing myself unnecessary stress and might even be viewed as potentially sabotaging myself by invoking DL's ire and causing more problems for me.

CG is brilliant, no?

I left her office knowing what I needed to do: I have to stop my whining, suck it up, and do what I need to in order to leave this place on terms that I'm comfortable with. I need to get my work done because I'm an adult (eh-hem), and because I get paid a lot of money for it, and because I have personal integrity. If this means foregoing some social activities, missing Grey's Anatomy, and not being able to go to the gym for another couple of weeks while I put all of my remaining energy into interviewing, so be it.

Now is the time for sacrifice. Unfortunately, not everything can change all at once. Such is life. Soon enough, I will be free, and then the fun can begin. But, for now, I need to be patient. It's all a part of my as-yet-not-revealed-to-me master plan. I'm sure of it.

I'm a Capricorn; we are made to suck things up. Lest you think that we don't have fun while sucking things up, listen to this and get pumped. You go, Beyonce!

Clarity of Mind

I know all I've been talking about is work, work, work, and work this week! Sorry I've been so dull, but I've been making progress with my thinking as well as taking practical steps. I'm on my way to making a change and I'm really happy about the direction in which I'm going. Thank you to everyone who has commented. It's great to get different perspectives, and of course encouragement!

Today's small success was updating my resume and sending it to a recruiter. Woo-hoo! I also connected with an organization I'm interested in, narrowed down a list of firms that I'm considering applying to, and surfed a few job sites. Not bad.

At therapy this evening, for the first time in a long time all I talked about was work and family issues. That's one of the greatest things about being out of my last relationship; I don't have the weekly anxiety and hurt of it weighing me down and sucking up all of my energy and attention. I no longer feel emotionally wrecked on a weekly basis. It's amazing how the absence of that emotional turmoil can free up one's spirit. I no longer feel as sick and anxious all the time. Amazing, no? Finally, I feel like I can move on and focus on me and what I want to do with my life - what I should have been doing all along!

My therapist thought that Gypsy's analogy (Yes, Gypsy, you have the honor of making it into my therapy!) between jumping from my firm to a smaller, nicer one to jumping from a 10 story building to a 5 story building was "excellent." You go, Gypsy. It is a good metaphor and it makes sense. I feel comfortable with contemplating this type of move - to a 5 story building instead of to the pavement - at this time. Now, if a public interest position were to materialize in front of me, of course I would grab it. But at least, again for the first time in a long time, I have a Plan B (Plan D for all of those counting) that feels OK to me. With this plan, I can look myself in the mirror and feel good that I'm doing something productive and positive for me. I'm moving toward something strategically instead of diving off of the 10 story building head first, while at the same time putting myself in a position to be able to say "F-You" to Dragon Lady by the end of February. Oh, glorious day.

Apparently many people do these type of moves - from a despised place to more of a middle ground position - specifically so that they can regroup and gather the energy they need to find a place that they really want. When you think about it from that perspective, it makes sense, and for the first time I understand why thousands of associates might make this same move each year. Maybe a lot of them are more like me than I had previously thought? Maybe they too are trying to get out of corporate life and having trouble finding their way? There's a lesson here about being less judgmental that I'm making a mental note about.

I promise to not talk about work tomorrow. I have something far more fun in mind. Stay tuned. For now I leave you with one of my most favorite paintings by John Singer Sargent (American Painter 1856-1925), the Ostyer Gatherers of Cancale. How relaxing would it be to walk across the cool, wet sand in bare feet under a gorgeous blue, cloud-covered sky?

Apartment Hunting: The Upper UWS

For those of you unfamiliar with Manhattan, the place where the red arrow is pointing (125th Street), is far, far away from where I currently live. I'm down in Chelsea, which is on the west side of Manhattan about midway down the island. 125th street is almost 100 blocks north of where I live, or approximately 5 miles. In most places in the United States 5 miles would be nothing. In Manhattan, it's the difference between being happy and feeling like you're stuck in Siberia. It's even North of Central Park!

Not that I'm being negative at the moment. On the contrary, I'm extremely impressed with myself. I had never been that far North. I took off the afternoon from work (fuck 'em) and explored the border of Harlem! I have one friend up there who swears it's the greatest because it's away from the buzz of the city, you get more space for the money, and it's just "cool" in the way that neighborhoods in the process of gentrification are that haven't yet become hip.

However, I happen to like the buzz of the city, and as I was exploring the area between 100th to 125th street, my overriding impression was one of depression and isolation. It just felt so damn far away from everywhere I want to be (i.e. The Village, Chelsea, Soho, East Village, Union Square, UWS, etc.; basically anywhere on the West side up until 96th street, and many places on the East side).

Despite not being enthused by the upper, upper West side, I'm still really proud of myself for getting my butt in gear and checking it out. I saw two places, neither of which was anything special and way to small for the money and the location. CG told me yesterday during our session that I could feel miserable and sad, but that I had to "empower" myself while at the same time allowing myself to work through those feelings. Basically, she was saying that I needed to take some control of the situation, and even if I continued to feel sorry for myself (which I was totally doing two days ago) I still needed to take some action and act like the competent, bright, confident woman that I am. She suggested "educating" myself about the available rental options as a way of empowering myself and damn it, she was right. I do feel empowered because even though this situation totally sucks, I'm taking action to try to get myself out of a bad situation and into a better one. Go me.

In educating myself today by tramping all over the upper, upper West side, I learned that 100th street is my upper most limit. I also realized that I need to consider my mental health and the impact the darkening days will have on it. As the sunlight faded on 125th street, the area began to look even bleaker than it had earlier, and I thought to myself that though I could bear not snuggling with who I thought I was going to snuggle with this winter, I don't think I could bear it if I was trapped all the way up in Siberia. The isolation would wreck me. I'm just not ready for that. I'm a Manhattan girl, what can I say. And if I'm going to live in Manhattan, I want to live in Manhattan, not Harlem (even if it is the new cool place to be with slightly cheaper rent). I prefer veggie stands over fried chicken and a steady stream of cabs over vacant streets.

In addition to looking on Craig's List, I've contacted almost everyone I know in the city and enlisted their assistance. Shockingly, for a girl who has been convinced that she doesn't have close friends here, there are a large number of people on my list and almost every single one of them has come through. In trying times, you always find out who your true friends are. Lucky me, I have a good number of them.

Tomorrow, the search continues.

Therapeutic Processing

Therapists are great because they help you process. Last night, I saw CG and, as usual, she was awesome. Together, we waded through the muck (I actually had her skim that blog post at the start of our session so that she could get a snapshot of my mental state). I realized that - putting aside the relationship heartache - one of the main reasons I'm stressed and anxious about the idea of temporary housing is that I want a safe, stable place where I feel comfortable, and temporary housing does not represent that in my mind. Temporary housing is filled with random crazies, my stuff scattered between my brother's house and storage, and me sitting alone on a bed staring at the walls. Who wouldn't be freaking out about that image?

The idea that I might want a stable home, as opposed to flitting around the world trying to find a sense of purpose, should not have been an earthshattering revelation to me, but with my emotions in overdrive, it came as something of a surprise. Having my space has always been important to me. In addition, for the last couple of months I've been incredibly stressed out because of my feeling that I do not have an "anchor" or a "rock." Well, of course the anchor and the rock has to be MOI, and what I realized last night is that I probably can not be a good anchor to myself if immediately after ending a serious relationship, I proceed to summarily uproot everything else in my life at the exact same time. Not a good plan.

I don't need more uprooting right now. Losing a relationship, a job (even a despised one), and a city that I love all at the same time would be too much. It just doesn't make sense. I need to take care of myself, and I'm thinking today that taking care of myself might mean giving myself a stable place to live. So, like my wise friend Fran said yesterday, the first order of business is getting out of the apartment. That's what I'm going to focus on for now, and I'm going to push all the concerns about the job to the side. It would be good for me to find a place to live where I feel comfortable. That would be taking care of myself, which is what CG always focuses on. She always asks, "What do you need to do to take care of yourself?"

Breaking up was not part of my plan. But, it's happened, and so now I have to change the plan in order to take care of myself. I can kick, scream and cry while I do it, but I have to get it done.

Uncertainty

I had one of those therapy sessions today that made we walk out feeling clearer, uplifted, hopeful, and calm; like everything was going to be ok, and like I was on the right track to where ever it is I'm going. It was worth the 60 bucks.

My therapist, CG, does a great job normalizing what I'm experiencing, while at the same time never devaluing or taking away the uniqueness of my experience. For example, today she helped me see that it makes sense that I'm stressed out and feel a little bit like freaking out because of everything that's in flux at the moment in my life. I'm exploring and dealing with significant career, personal future, and relationship issues. I'm also trying to figure out what I want and need in my life in order to make me feel happy, safe, and fulfilled. And, I'm realizing more and more that it's very hard to figure all of that out while feeling stressed out, demoralized, and exhausted from my current abhorrent job.

My current situation sucks, the future is uncertain, and I don't have any answers yet. Of course it makes sense that I would be massively stressed out and filled with anxiety!

As you all know from the counter at the end of my blog, the time is fast approaching when I'm finally going to quit my firm job. I feel confident in that decision, and part of me is really excited about it. This firm, and firm life in general, is not the right place for me, and I need to eliminate that (huge) negativity from my life in order to open up space for me to be healthy and happy.

But, even though I know it's the right decision, I still feel a lot of anxiety about leaving. I don't know where I want to go next, and as of this moment, I'm planning to quit without having a new job lined up. A few months ago, that plan seemed brilliant. I thought I would quit and then travel as a way of rewarding myself and giving myself space to regroup and refocus. The last two years have been draining, and I need to get back in touch with what I want to do with my life. Trekking through Tibet seemed like just the place to do that mental and spiritual regrouping.

Now, I'm rethinking that part of my plan, and wondering if it's foolish to quit without having a job lined up. I'm letting fear, but also my innate practical nature, infect me. Fear that I would make it far more difficult to find the job of my dreams while jobless than it would be if I continued to be employed. Just this afternoon, a legal recruiter told me that I would be committing "career suicide" by quitting before lining up something new. Thanks! He said that applying for positions while unemployed would "raise questions" and make it harder to compete with other applicants - many of whom will be, in a few months, where I am now, treading water in a firm and looking for an exit strategy.

In addition to the concerns about finding a job - any job - I also have financial concerns. New York is an expensive place and I'm not going to be able to pay rent, buy organic produce and chanel make-up, let alone go out anywhere, with just my smile. Yes, I have some money saved up, but I did not work myself raw in order to blow my hard-earned savings on living expenses while unemployed.

On top of that, my huge, enormous, over-arching concern is that I just don't know what I want to do with my life!!! I know I want to work on women's rights issues, particularly on international human rights issues that affect women. I'm interested in asylum law, anti-trafficking work, reproductive rights issues, and, in general, creating positive societal change. I want to contribute to continuing the feminist revolution, to creating increased gender equality in our society. So, I guess it would be more accurate to say that I know what I want to do with my life, but I just don't know how to do it. I know my long-term goal, my passion; I just haven't figured out my path.

Will someone please show me my path? It would make things ever so much easier!!

Ok, I know that's not going to happen. This is my journey, and I've got to figure this out all by myself.

In an earlier post, I said that "I don't have anything stabilizing me; no rock to steady and comfort me." Tracy thoughtfully challenged me to think about where I go to for stability, and then later, in the midst of describing all of my swirling emotions to CG, the same question arose. Where do I go to feel stabilized, safe, and protected? Where do I go to feel focused and centered?

The answer used to be me, but I haven't been in great shape to be there for myself because I've been feeling so stressed out, uncertain, and tired. I've become unanchored and I'm drifting about in a swirling sea, waves crashing, rain pouring down all around me, and no daylight in site. Forgive the nautical metaphor; it's the best I can do at the moment to describe what's going on inside of me.

I need to find my anchor. My center. Focused resolve. Tranquility. Certainty. I know it's there. Somewhere. It's been out, no doubt someplace far more fun, like getting a massage in Thailand, but it needs to come back now. We have a lot to figure out.

Deadly Delight

That's it! I am never, ever, ever buying a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream again! I simply can not be trusted with it. I have no discipline and I am powerless against it.

I wasn't even emotionally eating. At least I don't think I was. I was feeling good, in a happy mood, and yet still I picked up that spoon. My right hand enabled me!! Curse you hand - you traitorous appendage!

Partly it's because I came home late. Way too late to even thinks about making a healthy dinner. Way too late to do anything except grab the closest readily available edible substance and plop down on the couch to chill out.

I came home late because I had counseling at 8 pm instead of my usual earlier time. I switched my time because of Dragon Lady and the deposition that I thought I would be covering with her today. Dragon Lady didn't tell me I wouldn't need to attend to her until yesterday morning, too late to change back my counseling time. It's fantastic that I didn't have to spend the day under those tortuous conditions, but frustrating to have a whole evening thrown off kilter for no reason. So, it's Dragon Lady's fault!

Yeah, it's Dragon Lady's fault that I came home late and didn't have time to make a healthy dinner. It's her fault that I stopped by the corner store near my house to see if they had ice cream, and it's also her fault that I went to a second store when the first one didn't have the kind I wanted. Dragon Lady is also responsible for me walking into my house, tossing my purse down, grabbing a spoon, and then sitting down on the couch in front of the tube with the pint of ice cream in one hand and the spoon in the other.

. . . Ok, maybe not. I suppose I can't blame her for absolutely everything out of whack in my life. Her claws are long and sharp but even she has her limits. Raj isn't here, so I guess I have no one to blame except for myself for this 1200-calorie slip-up.

Yep, I wrote that correctly. One itsy-bitsy, teensy-weensy pint has twelve-hundred calories!! Good lord! How do they even pack 1200 calories into such a small container? It's gotta be a conspiracy. Someone - I'm not going to name any names - is trying to wear down the women of America by disguising massive amounts of calories as harmless minty, chocolatey goodness. Who would think that something so good could be so bad?

It's a travesty of justice.

It's not like I'm surprised. It's definitely happened before. I have been known to eat an occasional pint of ice cream. It's just so damn good. It's the most delectable food item I could imagine. Whoever masterminded the tremendous combination of mint, creamy coolness and hidden chocolatey chips is a true genius. That's why it's so easy to eat an entire pint, because with each bite I'm trying to find more chips. Over and over again I go exploring in the ice cream, trying to create that most perfectly proportioned bite. It's takes a lot of trial and error to get the perfect ratio of chips to ice cream in a spoonful. And I'm a type A. I want perfection, and I won't stop until I get it.

And when I've eaten only a 1/4 of the pint, I think to myself that I have so much left. Another bite isn't going to kill me and it's not like I'm going to eat the whole thing!

And when I've eaten 1/2 of the pint, I think to myself that I haven't eaten healthy for the night, but one more bite isn't going to kill me, and it's not like I'm going to eat the whole thing!

And when I've eaten 3/4 of the pint, I think to myself that I've totally blown any pretense at eating healthy for the evening. I might as well have one more bite, because if I'm going to fall off the wagon, I might as well fall of spectacularly and thoroughly enjoy it.

And when I've eaten almost the whole pint, I think to myself that it would be stupid to put the almost-empty pint back into the freezer - the inside of which this poor little pint will never see. It would just be a waste of space, and in addition to that, Raj would notice and know that I came home and ate a whole pint of ice cream. All by myself. It's not like I wouldn't tell him . . . eventually. A day or two from now after the ice cream has left my system, after I've had a few liters of water, and when I'm back to feeling semi-firm and svelte instead of bloated and jiggly.

That's my vice you see. I don't drink to excess (I'm pretty much tanked by 2). I don't smoke. I don't do drugs. I don't have unsafe or unhealthy sex. I'm pretty much good all around, except for the job I hate, my anxiety about my future - both professionally and personally, the emotional issues I'm still sorting through related to my family (who I love very much), and Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream. Of all those, the ice cream is clearly the biggest problem.

It is my downfall. I am defenseless and vulnerable before it's cold, icey glare.

But no more! I am taking a stand against this merciless foe. I will no longer be tricked by it's siren-like call into believing that I will be able to exercise some restraint if I purchase a pint. No matter how much my mouth salivates at the thought of this temptress touching my tongue, I will walk by the freezer case with my chin held high, refusing to eye its colorful, deceptively cheery label. From this moment onward, I will banish all thoughts of those coy little chips from my mind. I am strong and I will triumph!!

Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream, You will rule me No MORE!

Ding Dong!

I'm so happy it's Friday! I was a total waste at work this week. Shocking not because I'm a procrastinator at heart, not because each hour I spend at work these days seems like pulling teeth, but shocking because Dragon Lady was gone this week!! One would have thought I would have been dancing on my desk and hanging off of the flourescent-lit ceilings screaming with glee:

"Ding-dong the witch is gone,

Which old witch?

The wicked witch,

Ding-dong the wicked witch is G-O-N-E!"

Oddly though, I wasn't in a celebratory mood. Instead, I was depressed, anxious, and worrying about everything. Yuck! To take my mind off of the anxiety, I blogged, read blogs, consumed celebrity news, read about all the latest fashion trends, and somehow completely missed the latest terrorist threat warnings. In short, my week consisted of mindless web-surfing. I should have relished this, but all I could think as I was doing it was how pathetic it was that I wasn't doing any work. How not fun is that? Deliberately avoiding work and then putting yourself on a simultaneous guilt trip about your avoidance. A waste on all counts, I tell you.

Oh well, one of things I'm trying to do, of late, is to let bygones be bygones (both for me and for others), and also to not spend so much time being anxious about the future. Both are excruciatingly difficult for me. I had a really wonderful session with CG yesterday and one of the things she said to me was: You need to think about what you can do to make yourself happy now. And she didn't mean "now" as in this time in my life; she meant "now" as in right now, today.

I'm supposed to try to sit with the present and not worry about the past or the future.

I didn't realize until recently that it was hard for me to sit in the present. I also didn't realize how much energy I spend worrying about time that has passed and time that will come. Yet another disconnect between my intellectual self, which has always understood the importance of living for today, and my emotional self, that has been nodding sagely at my intellectual self, and then, when my intellectual self isn't looking, has been running around like a mad woman trying to dissect, analyze, and divine the truth of the past in order to control the future.

Silly girl, didn't your Daddy tell you that you can't control the future? That you can't control the actions of others? That the only things you can control are your own actions? Why, yes, he did. But until your emotional self gets with the program, it doesn't much matter what your intellectual self knows or believes.

Monday is Raj's birthday, which makes this weekend his birthday weekend! I'm excited, and in order to make sure that I can enjoy the present this weekend, I'm going to buckle down and try to get some goddess-forsaken work done in the next few hours. Wish me luck and have a great weekend!

Fighting Stance

Although I was highly resistant, and close to teetering over the edge into visible, open defiance, I attended the meeting, but I came on my guard and ready to fight. Prior to the start of the meeting, when it was just I and the senior associate (who I like, but who dangerously happens to be a master delegator), the senior associate asked me how I was doing. I said, "fine," and bit the inside of my mouth to stop myself from ranting about FBH.

Then he asked me what else I was working on, and I frankly informed him about my asylum case crisis and the fact that FBH had been a nightmare, but that she had finally backed off a little bit over the course of the day. I told him straight out that I absolutely, under no circumstances, should be doing any work other than for my asylum case until Thursday, and that FBH was fully aware of the emergency situation. I was brittle, tense, short, and probably a little too expressive of my disdain for FBH. Oh, well.

The meeting started and I raced through disgorging all of the information I had in my head regarding preparations for tomorrow's meeting with our Expert. Shockingly, I knew a lot. A hell of a lot more than I ever wanted to know about our Expert's documents and the myriad of issues surrounding them. I managed to get everything pertinent out in under 45 minutes, eventhough a pesky new addition to the team - an associate who seems like a nice person, but who has only been on the Case-From-Hell for two days and thus has no eff-ing idea what she has gotten herself into - kept asking me substantive questions about the transactions at issue, questions that I had to wade through almost two years ago when I started on this monster of a case. She actually seemed genuinely interested in the issues. Poor thing. I give her three weeks before she starts cracking.

I'll be nice to her, of course, and lead her to the path of awareness and rebellion. Have no fear. But I sure as hell do not have time engage in a legal debate about various accounting issues at the the moment. I left the meeting with no additional work (success!), and made it clear to all of them that from my perspective I was not supposed to work on this Expert again until next week. That should at least forestall some b.s.

After the meeting, I raced back to my desk, continued drafting documents for my asylum case, and then hopped on a subway uptown to go see CG. I knew I didn't technically have time to go, but I thought it made sense to see my therapist after just having this massive breakthrough and professionally and strongly standing up to FBH. Sure enough, CG was delighted. She was especially delighted because of a specific shift in my thinking: Instead of internalizing FBH's b.s. and making myself sick about her displeasure, I'm not letting her make me feel bad. I know that she is a nasty bi-atch, and I also know that I am doing the right thing and excellent work. I know that there is nothing wrong with me. This is what I told CG and she said, "Buttercup, this is so great, you're going to make me cry."

After my mental health break, I zipped back home, ordered and wolfed down some so-so Italian food, and then continued working on my asylum case documents. I went to bed after 2:00 am and snuggled against Raj's warm body for a few minutes and tried to go to sleep.

Today's Battle: Today, at 2pm, is the Expert Meeting and I anticipate that FBH is going to harass me with numerous questions throughout the day. At 2:30 pm my asylum clients are possibly supposed to arrive, depending upon whether or not it was safe of them to come. I have 5 hours to crank out more of their affidavit. During the next 5 hours, my goal is to avoid FBH at all costs. Wish me luck.

***

God Damn It!!! I was already sucked into an email exchanged with FBH. Jesus! She already sent out 10 emails this morning, and I made the fatal mistake of trying to be helpful on one of them. Then, in response to my email she sends and email to the whole group, essentially stating the main points of my earlier email, stating that she wants someone to follow-up and find "x" document and she doesn't want to keep having to "map everything out." Keep in mind, I was trying to help the eff-ing bi-atch.

Well, NO MORE. I am not lifting a finger to type another response to her for the next 4 hours.

Chocolate For Your Soul

"What are you going to do to take care of yourself?" my therapist asked me during the last five minutes of our session last night.

I had been surprisingly emotional. Surprising not because I was emotional, but because of what I had been emotional about. I had been planning to talk about work and my fears for the future, but instead I ended up talking about my relationship with my family.

As I was about to start gathering up my things, CG asked me what I was going to do to take care of myself after I left her office. I looked at her and said, "I feel like having some chocolate," and then added, "but I know that wouldn't be good for me." CG said, "What are you going to do to be nice to yourself?," meaning that eating chocolate, which would inevitably make me feel guilty and probably give me a stomach ache, was not the epitome of "being nice" to myself. She then asked whether I enjoyed getting 10-minute massages at nail places. Who doesn't?

At her suggestion, I ended up going to get a manicure after my session. Nail places are very hit or miss in NY, but I was lucky last night. The manicurist did an excellent job, and then I splurged and paid $13 dollars extra for a 10-minute massage. A young Korean guy named Jay did the massage honors and he was awesome. He had strong hands, used the perfect amount of pressure, and basically turned all of the stress that I had been carrying around in my back into liquid. I felt like warm, worked-over putty by the time that I got up from the chair. It was so awesome. Prior to the massage, I wasn't going to tip him because I had rationalized that I was already paying $13 extra. However, by the end of the massage I was so filled with gratitude that I decided to give him a tip. He truly was amazing. I'm going back for sure.

CG had a good idea. She said that weekly rituals where you take time for yourself can be "self-soothing" (which is another stress-busting concept we're working on together) and another type of coping strategy. Not that life should be all about coping, but rather that you should be equipped with different strategies to cope with stress and to keep yourself happy and balanced. You should make time to take care of yourself, to do things that act like chocolate for your soul. How divine does that sound?

Weekly manicures + massage are a great treat, but at $25 a pop they could get somewhat expensive. Especially for a girl looking to ditch her corporate existence and bank account. Weekly, and sometimes every-other-day, bubble baths, are an excellent ritual that I used to practice religiously in my old apartment, but I've run into some snags in my new abode.

Another idea I've had, but have yet to implement, is making a concerted effort to get out into nature at least once a week, or at least a couple times a month. I've always known that being out among the trees, or on the water, is good for me. It does the job of a 90 minute massage in about five minutes. Being out among the greenery was one reason Connecticut was such a wonderful experience. That's something Simone reminded of me during our last phone conversation.

So, so far my tentative list of self-soothing rituals that I am trying to incorporate into my life includes the following (notice that shopping, chocolate, wine, and mint-chocolate-chip ice cream, though they work damn well sometimes, are not on my aspirational list):

1) Manicure + mini-massages
2) Spending time outside among the trees or on the water
3) Bubble baths
4) Yoga
5) Reading a good book (I'm just about to finish "Never Let me Go" by Kazuo Ishiguro, it's great).
6) Meditation (aspirational)
7) Acupuncture
8) Journal Writing regularly
9) All things lavender (such as oil, satiny eye packs, soap, etc.)

All of these have in common being internally still, which is something I've always known that I need for my sense of well-being. I've found this through art in the past, and may need to put that on the list in some way. Maybe a painting class?

I need to be silent and still, and to give myself time to think. It's how I recharge and re-energize. It's amazingly hard though, especially in New York, and particularly in this job, to find time to be still (and not racked by guilt). So often it seems like I'm either working (or of late willfully not working) or trying to have fun. There's no in between. (I was just thinking I bet moms reading this are rolling their eyes in disbelief. I'm childless. I have only me to worry about, but look at all the issues I have just handling that! Good Lord.).

What do you do to take care of yourself?

A Dwindling Group Of Unwilling But Morbidly Proud Survivors

I just got back from a Litigation Lunch at my firm, during which we listened to presentations on such fascinating topics as billing, time sheets, and the accomplishments of the associates Committee. Earlier, I mentioned the incredibly important work that our Associate Committee has worked on over the course of the last year. Today I learned that in addition to bringing us medium post-it notes, the Committee is also responsible for bringing us mechanical pencils, more cars to ride home in, and more loaner laptops. In sum, all the Committee has worked on is improving the perks of this job, without tackling any of the larger life issues such as work-home life balance, hours, the case assignment process, or training and experience.

Listening to them talk of mechanical pencils, I glanced disgustedly at my colleague sitting next to me and caught his eye. He, I, and Prue, and a few others, started on day #1 together on the Big Securities Case (the "Case From Hell") that defined my existence for the first year and a half at this job, and continues to plague my existence. He looked back and me, smiled, and rolled his eyes. What a joke. He told me during lunch that he had been placed on another gigantic case that is just about to start Discovery. The assigning partner called him up and said that she thought it would be a "good fit." Give me a break. After spending a year and a half doing discovery on the case from hell, he has now been thrown on to another one. That would be aggravating enough, but they add insult to injury by trying to shovel b.s. down his throat. And the Associates Committee worries about post-its and mechanical pencils. It's enough to make anyone gag.

But then a part of me thinks that maybe I'm being too pessimistic. What's happened to me? Have I really been so crushed and drained by this job that I no longer have within me the desire to try to make things better? The desire to do what I can to effect change from within? Isn't it a positive sign that the Firm finally started an Associates Committee, and that they're working on addressing some issues, even if they are rather small in comparison to the large problems that still need to be addressed? For example, I'm really pleased to have medium post-it notes. It was undeniable an improvement. A small one, but an improvement nonetheless. But then a voice says: Silly, silly little girl. This is a law firm. This is the way things are. What did you expect?

Last night during therapy, I was crying and telling CG that I had reached the point where I did not think that I could make my life the way I wanted it to be while staying at this job. I don't know if that's true (and I'm not sure if that's wrong - maybe I should be able to make everything OK while staying at this job?), and it was really difficult to admit. It felt like failure, like I couldn't hack it. It also felt freeing to admit that this firm and this job were not for me.

Even though I know it's time to leave, I have ambivalence. Part of me feels like I'm a failure for not having succeeded. "Succeeded" to me would have been coming to this firm and thriving in its embrace. I have most definitely not thrived. But maybe my definition of succeeding is too harsh? I have succeeded in the sense that (1) I have given everything I had to this job (for at least the first 13 months), (2) I have gotten a TON of practical experience doing everything from research, writing, drafting pleadings, client contact, and taking depos, (3) I have helped people, (4) I have learned an incredible amount about things that I didn't want to, and hope one day to forget, and about things that have enriched me, and (5) I have met a few great people (some of whom, like Prue, left me - boo hoo).

Most of the people I met here were on my Case From Hell with me. We were a big and isolated group and for the first 13 months of my employment here, I basically did not see anyone else from my firm. There quite simply was no time. We were in hell and we were all scrambling to come out to the other side. My colleague that I was sitting next to at lunch is one of those people. Since the case quieted down a bit, and since certain people were let go to do other assignments, I've seen a lot less of the Case From Hell people. Part of this is deliberate avoidance. At any moment, a call from one of them could mean being drawn back into hell. Though I have more time now, I have not seen more of the other people that work at the Firm. During the last few months, I have felt so done with this place. I've had no desire to connect with others and develop new relationships at a point where I hope to soon be on my way out.

I almost didn't go to the lunch, but I'm glad I did, because I found to my surprise that I enjoyed seeing my colleague, and even enjoyed being reminded of what an effed-up place I work at. My colleague asked me how Prue was doing and I said that she was enjoying Houston and being free of this place (I have yet to hear all the details from Prue, so I was doing a bit of projecting, truth be told). My colleague exhaled and shook his head, in a way that I knew he was thinking how lucky Prue was to be out of here. Many of the people who started with us have started to leave. The turnover in law firms is quite extreme, with almost 100 people leaving and coming in each year. Many people stay only 1 or 2 years. I'm on MONTH NINETEEN. Thinking about how long we have been here and still shaking his head, my colleague said to me, "We're survivors," and we both laughed at the melodrama and the truth underneath that statement.

I do feel as if I have survived something being here. There were so many days last year I wanted to quit, but I didn't. I stuck it out, and more than a little part of me is proud of me for that. I have made this situation work for me as much as was possible under the circumstances, and when I finally do walk away from here, I will be walking away a far less naive experienced individual. In addition to the work experience, I've worked for an individual who I know I will view for the rest of my professional career as the most horrible, nastiest excuse for a boss that I ever had the misfortune to work for. There's something positive, though, even in that. Because even though it wasn't pleasant, and even though my spirit has been brought low, I still did it. I took everything that they threw at me and I did a good job.

My colleague and I have been through something, that like all kinds of hellish hazing experiences, tie us together because of what we had to endure. The type of experiences that no one on the outside can truly understand (unless they try to listen very very hard). It made me happy to see him - someone who understands what the last 19 months have been like - and it felt good to laugh with someone about our common circumstances. It reminded me that there are some good people here.

At the same time, based on the work of the Associates Committee, which presumably is responding to the bulk of the Associates' requests and complaints, I'm left with the unshakable feeling that most people in my firm - the ones concerned simply with perks - do not view themselves as being in hell. They are not like my colleague or I. Maybe that's because they weren't on the horrendous case that we're on, or maybe it's because they actually like Law Firm Life. Or maybe they do dislike LFL as much as I do, but they are somehow able to protect their spirits from getting crushed better than I. I still haven't decided if I want to get to know any of them.

I never thought I would have a problem protecting my spirit. It turns out that I do. But that doesn't take away the fact that I have made it through this, and will continue to do so. It hasn't been pretty, and it has forced me to confront all of my weaknesses and all of my insecurities (especially during this last month when moving in with someone has compounded all of the stresses attendant with work). But in so doing, I continue to find my strengths.

I like remembering that I'm a kick ass grrl. No matter my current job, no matter my weaknesses, and no matter that I have no effing idea as to what the future may bring.

Sailing The South Seas

I had my second appointment with my psychiatrist, Dr. M., yesterday morning. I think I'm in love with his aura. The man radiates tranquility, security, peace, and comfort. Being in his presence is soothing and relaxing. It's lulling. He is an incredible listener, insightful and non-judgmental, and his level of attention is extraordinary. While I'm talking with him he seems like he has all the time in the world to listen to and try to understand and help me. He makes me want to understand myself.

During our appointment, I happened to mention in passing, while I was making a completely unrelated point, that my parents are divorced. He paused in his note taking and looked up at me and said, "Divorced? When did that happen?" I said, "Oh, I didn't mention that in our first meeting?" No, no I didn't. Apparently, it slipped my mind. It appears I'm still in denial about the fact that it's suddenly started to bother me after 18 years.

We started talking about the divorce, and I did pretty well for about two minutes. I had been feeling good prior to coming to his office, and I had had no intention of crying or getting emotional this morning. That's why it was completely unexpected when I felt my face crumple and my eyes well up with tears while trying to respond to his question, "What is your understanding of why your parents got divorced?"

You would think that I would be OVER IT. In fact, until relatively recently (around the time that I started therapy) I didn't think that I had anything to get over. Which of course is the crux of the problem.

At the age of 12, when it happened, I shook it off. I understood that my parents were getting divorced because they had failed at the communication game. My Dad loved my Mom with everything he had, but he demonstrated that love through actions that did not translate into a love that my Mom understood or needed. My Dad showed that he loved my Mom by spending hours outside landscaping the yard, gardening, and refinishing not one, but two basements. My Mom wanted attention, someone to make her feel special and beautiful and desirable. She did not experience my father's actions as expressions of love for her, and she was profoundly unhappy.

I was a confidant to both of them, particularly my mother. I was sad for them, but I understood that it was their deal. Not mine. I never asked them not to get divorced. It wasn't my place and it would have been futile. I tried to help them get through it, and afterwards, when my siblings and I were on our joint custody schedule, I tried to keep us all together. I was compassionate, but I was all business. I was trying to make things work and get things done.

At the time of the divorce, I remember my mother telling my father that she did not love my father anymore, and then a little while later, that she had never loved my father. I thought this was true for most of the last 18 years. Recently, at the suggestion of my therapist, CG, I asked my mother about it. She said, "Why are you bringing this up now?" My mother and I don't talk about these sorts of things. I explained that it was something I was struggling with in therapy. She told me that it was probably something that she had said in anger, and that she didn't remember saying it. Hmmm...

It seems that at the age of 30, I've suddenly realized that I'm not sure how one knows what love is. You see, I don't want to be my Dad, who was told one day by the person he loved that they no longer loved him after 13 years. And I also don't want to be my mother, who woke up after 13 years and told the person she was supposed to love that she no longer loved them. It's a quandary when you don't want to grow up to be either one of your parental models (at least not this aspect of the models).

My Mom had a good point though, and yesterday in therapy I asked Dr. M. the same question. Through tears and tissues, and pauses to get a steely grip on myself - during which Dr. M. filled the silences by telling me that crying was OK - I explained that I had always thought that I had not been affected by the divorce, and I told him that I couldn't believe that it appeared to be affecting me now. In fact, I thought it was ridiculous that I was feeling like this now.

I grew up hearing all these people blame single mothers and divorce for destroying America's children and I laughed righteously. I had not been ruined by my parent's divorce. Neither had my brothers nor sister. We were good kids. We were successful, and we loved each other and our parents. Fuck those ignorant people. They did not know anything.

For 18 years I never cried about my parent's divorce. I would get disgusted and contemptuous with my mother every time she said she felt guilty. Guilty for what? I would ask. We are fine. Everyone gets divorced. There are lots of worse things in the world. The important thing was that we had had two parents who loved us. Who cared if they were together or not? But now, one question from Dr. M. and suddenly I had more tears inside me than I could hold in.

In answer to my question, Dr. M. told me that divorce is always traumatic for a child. Always? He went on to say that children cope in many different ways. He said that it sounds to him like I coped by refusing to let myself be affected emotionally by my parent's divorce. I just pushed it away and told myself that I was completely unaffected, and I believed it. (I was a very stubborn, strong-willed, and opinionated child). I did what I needed to do to protect myself. And for 18 years this brilliant strategy worked, more or less.

But now it seems that my powers of protection have started to fizzle out. According to Dr. M., I appear to be experiencing and confronting at least some of the emotions that I so successfully pushed away at the age of 12. It makes me feel a little bit like I'm losing my marbles. It's nice that I protected that 12 year old child, because I let her become the woman that I am today. But it's disconcerting to be experiencing emotions at 30 that I feel like I should have dealt with a long time ago.

It's difficult because I am not as tough as my 12 year old self was. I've realized during the last year that I have needs and vulnerabilities. She never needed anything, and she was not vulnerable. She rarely cried, and when she did it was usually out of rage or frustration. She was never depressed. She didn't have the patience for it.

I miss being encased in her seamless armor.

My Mental Health Posse

As I waited outside of Dr. M's office yesterday morning, I was a little nervous and not sure what to expect. My foray into the world of therapy and mental health is a relatively recent one. Apart from a brief stint in family therapy back when I was 12 and my parents were getting a divorce, prior to this past year I had never gone to therapy and never considered it for myself. I had this notion in my head that I was supposed to be strong, and that seeking support through therapy would mean that I had failed in some way, and that I was "weak."

I have long despised the thought of being "weak" or appearing "weak." Not because I care what other people think, but because I don't want to be that type of person that I myself would view as weak if I were looking at them from the outside. I don't want to look at myself and find myself wanting. Not that I'm in the habit of looking at others and finding them wanting. Generally, I reserve that level of judgment and criticalness for myself alone.

I have never viewed the use of therapy by others as an admission of weakness on their part. Instead, I have always seen it as a sign of strength. I think it takes a great deal of courage to look inside yourself and face the issues that are troubling you, and even more to seek out the assistance you need to confront those issues, especially in light of the mental health stigma in our society. I also have loved ones who have sought therapy, both counseling and medication, and I have seen the tremendous benefit it has had on them.

Even so, when I found myself struggling emotionally and mentally this past year, it took me a long time before I was ready to make the decision to go to therapy. Looking back on it now, I realize that I have been dealing with feelings of depression and anxiety since I moved to New York, a little under a year and a half ago. I'm still not one with the term "depression." However, I am one with realistically appraising my mental state, and I still remember how I felt during the months just before I finally decided to see a therapist.

It was not a pleasant time. My life consisted mainly of working and sleeping. That was it. Emotionally, I felt like I had nothing of meaning in my life, and like I had nothing worthwhile to give or contribute. Most of the time, I felt utterly alone and isolated. I was having panic attacks, and I was crying frequently. After months of this, the point when I really started to worry was when I started feeling nothing for periods of time. I remember one day walking into work feeling as if my whole life was just this empty shell. I had this facade of a successful woman, but inside there was nothing. No hope, no excitement, no joy.

Rationally and intellectually, I knew that this was all wrong. I knew my perception was skewed. I knew that I had family and friends that loved me, and whom I loved. I knew that I was working on worthwhile pro bono cases that had the potential to change my clients' lives, and that I was doing a good job. I also knew that I was getting valuable practical experience on my nightmare of a case, and that it would serve me well when I decided to find a new job. And I knew that there would come a time when I would make a change, and that things would get better.

But as I have learned in therapy, knowing something intellectually is not the same as knowing something emotionally. It takes a long time to emotionally know something, and to believe it. Not to mention all the time it takes to emotionally unknow things.

I finally decided to go to therapy in August of 2005. I had been thinking about it increasingly for weeks, and one day, when I had been feeling like I was going to cry all day, I asked my officemate - after two false starts, and with great hesitancy - if he happened to know of any good therapists. I was trying to be tough and to hold back my tears. I could feel them welling up inside of me, just on the brink of rushing forth and overflowing. I was trying to sound nonchalant. I was afraid that he would think I was looney, that he would look at me and see a pathetic creature that was on the verge of cracking up. I feared he would doubt my ability to do good work, and that he would judge and pity me. I had LOTS of issues about going to therapy. The biggest one was shame. Shame that I needed help. (It's actually still hard to admit that. But it's a fact. I did need help. I couldn't do it all by myself).

His response could not have been better. He was compassionate and candid and gave me exactly what I needed. He not only provided me with the name of my current therapist, but he also told me that HE had been in therapy (with my therapist in fact), and that he had thought it was a fascinating experience through which he had gained a great deal of insight, and also learned about a whole different profession. He likes learning things. He said, "Buttercup, of course I've been in therapy. I'm a philosophy major. We love analyzing, and what could be better than paying someone to focus on you for one solid hour. That's great that you are exploring it."

His reaction was completely contrary to what I had feared it would be. It was supportive and informative and encouraging, and it made me feel a little lighter inside. I couldn't believe that he had been in therapy. He was so calm and collected. Talking with him not only made me feel normal, and like therapy was not a big deal, but it made me think it might actually be kind of cool. It was so very single 30-year old woman in New York trying to figure her shit out. I wanted to be that introspective woman taking control of her life.

I started therapy, and after 7 months, I too can unequivocally say that THERAPY IS THE BEST THING EVER. I highly recommend it. My therapist, CG, is excellent. Upon meeting her, I was immediately comfortable and had a sense that I could trust her. Her office, which is decorated with paintings of flowers, painted a soothing pale yellow, and furnished with a comfy couch with silky pillows, is a "safe place" that makes me feel peaceful inside whenever I step into it. Thinking of sanctuaries, her office is one of mine, for at least one hour each week. After a couple of months, our sessions started leaving me with a feeling of calmness and happiness. Sometimes it only lasts as long as my cab ride home, but I always get it back each week after another session.

I can not pinpoint exactly why I have found therapy to be such a positive experience. It's a process, and it works in subtle ways, and I'm still figuring it - as well as myself - out. Part of it is the process of verbalizing my feelings and getting out of my body and mind things that have been bothering me. It's like mental detoxification. Therapy also helps me sort through my feelings so that I can identify the major issues that are causing me stress, and figure out a way to deal with them. It was my therapist that made me realize a few weeks ago that I was crying in her office because I was stressed about the move, and that one way of dealing with that was to talk through my concerns with Raj. It also gives me perspective on my own feelings and actions, and helps me to see the areas of myself that I might be able to change in order to make myself a happier and better person. A more enlightened being in Buddhist-speak.

My talk therapy with CG has helped me a great deal these last few months. However, I have continued to struggle with feelings of depression. A few months ago, I tried medication for the first time. I had been adamantly opposed to the idea of medication, and had flat out refused to even consider it the first time that CG suggested it as an option. After that session, I went home and thought about why I had been so vehement. I realized that once again I was letting my fear of "being weak" influence me. I do not want to depend on medication to be happy. I feel like I should be able to be strong enough to make myself happy without chemical assistance. I also do not like the idea of putting chemicals into my body.

Ultimately, after much thought, I decided to try medication because this is my life, it's the only one I have, and I would rather spend it feeling like I was living to my full potential. How dumb would it be if I felt depressed for another 20 years, and then tried medication and found that it helped? I would have regretted not trying it long before. I also was finally able to reject the whole mental health stigma and just say fuck it. Trying medication is not like choosing a path that you have to be stuck on for the rest of your life. It's something you can try to see if it helps. If it helps, great. If it doesn't, then you stop. There is no harm in trying. Of course it's not for everyone, and I'm not even sure it's for me. But I feel like it was a good decision for me to at least explore this option.

The psychiatrist I saw was CRAZY. For our first meeting, I went to his office and sat in his waiting room for 15 minutes until my session was supposed to begin. There was no sound coming from his office door, so I figured he was either out, or talking to a patient very quietly inside. At the time of my appointment, the door to his office suddenly opened, and the Dr. looked at me and motioned me inside. He was an old white male, but so many of them are. When I entered his office, I saw that it contained a metal desk with an easy chair, and a lone chair sitting in front of the desk. There was not a single object on the desk, and there was no other furniture in the room. The walls of the room were white and completely bare. It was the most sterile, uninviting, and unfriendly environment I have ever seen.

During that meeting, which lasted all of 20 minutes, Dr. Crazy asked me lots of questions, and even ventured into a bit of dream analysis. He stared at me throughout the interview. He was very Freudian. I walked out of his office with a prescription for Lexapro in my hand, thinking what a bizarre creature he was and trying to imagine what on earth he had been doing in his sterile, undecorated, furnitureless (not even a couch!) office before our meeting, and what he was doing after I left. Maybe he had a secret drawer with a book or a cross world puzzle? I know that if I had to sit in that dreary office for any period of time, I would go crazy for sure.

I took the Lexapro and didn't notice a great change. Except in my libido, which seems to have gone on vacation during the last few weeks (I'm not sure if that's because of depression, tension between Raj and I, stress, fatigue, or because of the Lexapro, but I'm more than a little freaked out by it). I was supposed to go back to Dr. Crazy, but couldn't bring myself to go back to his office. With all the moving stress, I've been quite emotional lately, and it's been nagging me that I needed to find another psychiatrist and get a handle on this aspect of my mental health.

This brings me to yesterday morning, when I was sitting outside of Dr. M's office, waiting to see what he would be like. To my great pleasure, it turns out that Dr. M is awesome (at least based on this first impression). He has a kind face, an easy going but sincere and caring manner, and he's also an impeccable dresser. Dr. M spent almost an hour and half attentively asking me questions about myself and trying to get to know me and my issues. Our conversation went wonderfully, and I'm so happy that I found him. I also feel really good that I took this step to take care of myself.

Dr. M is not a hasty kind of guy, so we made no decision regarding the medication yesterday. Instead, we made a second appointment for later in the week. Dr. M wants to talk to CG, and I could not be more pleased. I'm more than happy to have them both working together to help me figure out my shit. Throughout this process my friends and family (especially Wood, Artemis, Bean, and my Dad and Mom), and of course CG have been very supportive of my efforts to become healthy and happy. Now with the addition of Dr. M, it's like I'm creating a whole mental health posse. With all this support, I have no doubt that I'm going to be able to kick my Depression's ass. Eventually.