Today was my third session with the shrink.
It took me a while to start writing again. It is not that it doesn't hurt anymore, it is more like a self-preservation. According to my shrink , i have a typical "Post traumatic syndrome". The one that wounded warriers have after the combat zone. She says one doesn't need to see a death or be close to a death to get affected.
First comes pain, then comes depression and detachment, and now i am in the stage of avoidance. We are avoiding the subject all together. We are dancing around each other trying not to talk about that. But i am also avoiding people in general. Every time i have to talk to someone out of our circle i sort of tune them out - i don't want to share my thoughts with anyone, but i also don't want to listen to their complains or problems. I know it might be important for them, but do they really realize how little and insignificant it all is? Should they know about that? Probably not and it's not my job to make them to realize it, so to avoid the confrontation i choose not to communicate with anyone at all. Former miss popular-girl, life of all the receptions , balls and diner parties. I am slowly but surely turning into sociopath. Kind of funny.
We are staying busy, trying to fill the emptiness with everyday's tasks. Routine helps. Our household goods came from Turkey. Finally! And as i started to fill my empty house with the furniture and our familiar stuff I also started to fill up my own empty shell with the memories. Having your things back is like meeting the old friends: "Oh, Hi! I am so glad to have you back."! Sometimes it is a surprise : " Oh, i forgot I've had you, but welcome anyway." And sometimes it is a confusion:" Oh, Really?! Did i really spend money on you? Really?"
Most therapeutic was finding our Christmas tree. Over the years we all got into a habit to buy something that can be used as a Christmas decoration from the places we've lived in or visited. Our Christmas tree is never beautifull designer- like-put-together-tree with every glass-ball in lined with another. It's usually somewhat messy and disorganized with no specific theme, it's overflowing with the toys and hand-made decorations. It's our memory tree. This year it was so good to open the box and start the journey back into my memories and the times when we were so happy and so clueless about that happiness.
I was telling Anna the story of every little treasure : where it was bought, was she there with us and what we were doing. Some things she remembered, some things didn't. I almost felt happy.
My world , the one i knew and loved, got shattered in a million pieces and for a while i desperately tried to glue it back together. It didn't work, I tried to find all the little pieces , but they wouldn't fit together. Then, one day, in the middle of the massive chaos that the movers had left us in, I just realized that probably I shouldn't try to glue anything back together, may be what i need is to try to build a new life. It's like building a house- first come the blue-prints, then a basement, then a shell and then you move in and create a home. I remember the blueprints, i have a good solid base, i even have a shell. Just need to fill it all up. Again.
But first we need to get all the dusty old skeletons out of the closets, dust them off, clean every single bone , then we will have to add a brand new one to the collection and put them all back into the darkest corner of the attic and try not to think about them altogether.
I also need to start making the amendments with God. My consular gave me a home work today, to take a first step and write to my priest, just to thank him for being there for me at the most horrible hours. I called him instead. But i am still not ready to go back to church, I still cannot pray, I do talk to God though and even started my fasting , but the faith is not back yet, and again i am not ready to face all that people and smile and listen to their stories. I enjoy my anonymousness right now. It took me a week to start driving, so it will take a little bit longer to face the reality.