I can deal with the physical “stuff” by myself. The emotional stuff this deep is apparently beyond me on my own.
It’s deeply embarrassing that I’m a woman of 50+ years who’s been fighting my kid crapola for almost my entire life and this is nearly the last step — and I can’t do it alone.
I have no choice. I HAVE to do this. Not just clean the physical house, but deal with what got me here. And that’s very, very scary. I have run, suppressed, finessed, lied, almost ANYTHING to avoid others seeing how deep the wounding goes. You think I talk about deep emotions easily? Hah! Threw you a bone, and you fell for it, just like all the shrinks, counselors, “friends,” etc. always have. NO ONE sees this part of me and frankly I rarely in the past have admitted it even existed.
I am deeply afraid. I’m afraid of myself. No I’m terrified. This stuff is so old, so deep and it is NOT rational. I have to cope with this because if I don’t, what happens in 10 years or so when I start to lose my rational self? I don’t even want to think about that!
I’m in the bizarre position of having fought as long as I can remember against acting crazy, limiting how much the crapola took over — and cleaning up my living room has me seriously doubting my sanity and is pushing my self control???
If this were an Ibsen play? I’d enjoy it a lot more. Most of my life I’ve said I didn’t want to end up being one of Ibsen’s characters. But I guess we’re not always given a choice?
I won the part, whether I want it now, or not. . . . oh goodie.