uncle uncle uncle

Even after I berate myself one more time, I affirm the conclusion from earlier today that:  This is the hardest Thanksgiving EVER.

I love my folks.  I like them, too, now in the present tense.

But I've been doing good therapy lately, and I pretty much can't imagine talking to them about anything besides whether or not the stuffing is going to be okay.

Compartmentalization.  Dissociation.

Eat turkey.  Smile.  Bring at least half of the dinner so that I can help Mom deal with her anxiety.

I don't get over the hard stuff because it was acknowledged once, under pressure, and never processed.

I want to scream. 

I want it all stopped.  Or I want to be dead.

If all this nonsense was stopped or acknowledged or never happend, then maybe I'd look out on the wasteland of my life and see a small dandelion growing up through the mud.  I love dandelions.  They are bright and cheerful, and they know what to do with anger and stuckness.