It’s February and I’m sitting on the white couch in my therapist’s Hyde Park office. “So? How are you today?”
“Been better.” Understatement.
Actually, Valentine’s Day is making a nuts. I try to ignore it or pass it off as a fake holiday, but society embraces it. Thus, my youngest brought home her holiday art project – blue construction paper with drawings and heart stickers, and my older daughter wants (money) to pick out flowers for “mama” and maybe some for my mom too. Then there’s Facebook where “friends” publicly and proudly proclaim their everlasting devotion to their significant others. I’m annoyed. I’m surrounded. I’m envious.
I’ve tried to rise above my feelings, to admit what’s so painfully obvious, and take a zen (or at least stoic) approach to the circumstances. The process has been slow and I’m a reluctant pupil, but I’ve learned. There are days though when the exercise in surrender and self-deception becomes too much to bear. Sitting there on that couch, that day, that week, that month feels like one of those times. I talk for a little bit and the prim woman across from the room asks me to elaborate.
“Well … ”
It feels a little like a hypoglycemic urge – those shaky cravings for something sweet.
It feels like being hungry and knowing there’s good, nourishing food nearby, but not being allowed to touch it.
It feels a little like anticipation – standing in line for your turn on an scary amusement park ride or waiting in a doctor’s office especially when you know that there will be needles.
It feels like losing something really important and no matter how hard you search you can’t seem to find it. It’s gone and you’re angry with yourself. How could you possible lose it? You loved this thing … and now it’s gone. And it’s never coming back. You can have a day filled with fun and sun and friends and wonderful adventure and memories … but the day will never be truly ‘great’ because something is missing.
If feels like an ever-present drone of air conditioning in an office except instead of a sound it’s a sense of emptiness and loss and longing.
It feels like waking up in the darkness and having trouble catching your breath, realizing that you aren’t getting enough oxygen, that you’re slowly suffocating.
It feels like standing in a maze with someone else and realizing I could easily navigate out of it, but wouldn’t be able to take the other person with me … I’d be leaving them behind.
It’s feels like …
I run out of metaphors and my audience of one leans back in her chair. “So it sounds like you really hate Valentine’s Day and what it represents.”
The irony is … I love Valentine’s Day.