Not your everyday kind of theraputic breakthrough

Something happened to me this week, and I am not sure how to describe it. It wasn't verbal. Or easily described by words I know, I should say. I suppose I have been building up to it for weeks now, months, probably even years. Something happened to me in therapy. Coupled with the stress of my kitty getting sick again (she's doing better now, yay!), I just lost my grip on myself. I felt it hit the back of my head like a cold stream of unexpected water.

And now I am off kilter.

Work is fine, I have a purpose there, I understand why I am doing what I am doing. If I can absorb myself completely in my work, and forget the internal war, I'm fine.

But every time I think about what happened to me during therapy, I feel sick. Not a bad kind of sick, the kind of sick you feel when you are riding the big plunge thingy at Cedar Point - that single second when you hear the car release, and you aren't moving. It's the kind of sick you get when you just barely avert a huge tragic car accident.

It's the first time in a long time, I have not felt the tug of desire for a relationship. The thought of being with 1,2,3,4,5,6,7 or 8 stresses me out and makes me a little bit disgusted. Not because those smart, beautiful, wonderful and ultimately tragic individuals hurt me or did something bad. I am disgusted at my behavior. The idea that I have wandered so far outside myself for the sake of something I don't even think I really want right now is reprehensible. But I don't blame myself. I am still working on the concept of friendship; it's no wonder I cannot/will not put myself in a situation that involves a romantic relationship.

Realizing you have a false sense of security in yourself, a self that really isn't you, but gets you through the day, is a painfully delicious experience.