Not everything sucks, but sometimes it sure feels like it

Today's savings account balance: $2131.37

I received a paycheck again last Friday, but my account balance dropped after I made the last post because I paid off my credit card at the end of September. Expenses included therapy ($60/session), my gym membership ($109/month), and some new work clothes. For my mental and physical well-being, I need the therapy and the gym membership. I probably didn't need the clothes, but after years of working from home in sweaters with holes in the armpits, I think it was time.

My last few therapy sessions have consisted of me sitting on my therapist's couch and bawling my way through her box of tissues. When I first started working with her a year ago, I couldn't muster a single tear. Now I go in and ugly cry for the full hour. I tell myself that this is fine!, this is what therapy is for!, and yet I am still startled and somewhat embarrassed by my emotion.

At our last visit, it took nothing more than a "so how are you doing?" to set me off. Cue instantaneous breakdown. I don't even remember most of what I said, except for the part when I sobbed, "Everything sucks! Everything!" And then she picked that moment to say, "Do you see how you're falling into catastrophic thinking? Does everything actually suck? Can we consider the language you are using?" And then I had to work really hard not to throw a handful of soggy, snotty Kleenex directly at her head, because no, Colleen, now is not the time to bust out your CBT training so that I can consider my fucking language.

She's right in that everything does not suck. The logical part of me understands and acknowledges that I have many good things happening: I have a job that pays me, I'm healthy, my child is healthy, my soon-to-be ex is healthy, I have a roof over my head, I have food to eat. Also, my kid is teaching me how to play F1 on the XBox, and it's kind of fun. I went for coffee with a friend today and ate one of the best pastries I've ever had. I look in the mirror and see that my arms are gaining muscle definition. All of these things are very much in the not-sucking category.

I can see that I have a fucking abundance of riches. I know this. You don't get to 45 years old without feeling grateful, because by 45, you have borne witness--probably many times over--to how simultaneously beautiful and brutal life is. By 45, you know nothing is guaranteed.

But I don't think I should have to preface my complaints in therapy with a gratitude list or an acknowledgement of my privilege. Nor do I need to cast judgment on my own feelings or tell myself things aren't that bad.

Because despite the things that do not suck, I have unquestionably struggled these past 18 months. Life has been heavy, and I've held onto it and trudge it up the mountain anyway, despite my frequent desire to give up.

First I was weighed down by a bone-deep apathy that was eventually identified as a symptom of the major depressive disorder I've grappled with since adolescence. This depressive phase lasted for more than a year, and it was exacerbated by me holding onto a secret that I could no longer keep to myself.

Then I came out to my husband. He was supportive (and continues to be, in many respects), but after we decided to divorce, he proceeded to tell his entire family and all of his work colleagues that I'm gay, thereby outing me in a town small and connected enough to transmit gossip over short periods of time.

Realizing that divorce also means that I need to be able to support myself, I started applying for all the things and ended up accepting a receptionist job that is best suited for an organized extrovert, not an introvert with ADHD traits. I've made it three months so far, and although I occasionally feel successful in my work, most days I'm fighting a battle against self-doubt, criticism (both from myself and from my micromanaging boss), and the plain old exhaustion that every intrinsically quiet person operating in a loud world knows all too well.

In the midst of this personal upheaval, I also went no-contact with my parents. While it needed to happen, it felt and feels awful to let go of the dream of having a family of origin that gives a shit. (That's another post or five so I'll hold off on going into details for now.)

Plus, there's the simple fact that coming out as gay is not easy. It may be liberating, it may be validating, but my own experience has also been stressful and left me feeling exposed and vulnerable.

And then there's the money thing. If I'm going to set off on my own and move into my own place, I need to have cashflow. I need to save and get my financial shit together by the end of next spring so that I can convince a landlord to rent me an apartment.

So no, not everything sucks. But my depressive, exhausted brain is feeling the effects of undeniably significant changes, changes that leave me feeling like I've burned much of my life to the ground and am in many respects starting from scratch. Changes that leave me feeling very alone.

Yes, these were my choices, and yes, I'm the one that has to live with the side effects. No, I can't blame anyone else for said choices.

But I think it's okay to cry, to grieve, to use big, bloated words to try to capture this experience and acknowledge the struggle.