Thoughts

I love the Harry Potter books. I think that I’ve read them all at least 100 times. I love books period, but there’s something about those stories. I get lost in the magic of it all. Now, that being said, I’m not one of those crazies that dresses up, or goes to parties, or secretly pretends to be a wizard, or tries to write my own spells. I know there is no magic train that takes you to a magic castle, and I know that there’s no such thing as wizards. But I love the escape that stories about magic provide! The only stories better than the Harry Potter books are the Chronicles of Narnia.

In one of the HP books, they describe a magical basin called a Penseive. You can pull the thoughts and memories out of your head and place them in the Penseive, especially to relieve the mind when it becomes too flooded with information. Anyone can examine the memories, kind of like a virtual diary.

Lately I have been wishing that there was such a thing. I sure could use one. These days I have way too many thoughts running through my mind. It’s getting crowded in there.

I’ve been having a lot of trouble sorting out my thoughts. One day I’m mad at the world, and don’t want to speak to anyone. Then the next day all I want is for someone to listen.

I sent a text message to Lauren one night, in a fit of loneliness, hoping that she’d call because I needed to talk to someone. When she did in fact call about 15 minutes later, I didn’t answer because I didn’t know what to say. I want someone to fix it, but how can I expect them to when what I want/need changes every 15 minutes?

One day I want reminders of Emily everywhere, and then the next I want to wipe away all traces of her. Her room is driving me nuts. I can’t stand that everything in there still looks like she’s coming back to it.

And there are times that I do want to talk, but I just don’t know what to say. And honestly, it isn’t even all “Emily stuff”- there’s a whole lot of “other” stuff that’s been buried deep in there for years. I thought I had it all pretty much under control, but Emily’s death sent everything into a tailspin. I think that’s where the Penseive would come in handy. If I could sort through all of the stuff, maybe I could begin to put the pieces back together. Right now it all just runs together.

I’m very reluctant to ask for help. I’m realizing that I have some serious control issues. I think I want help, but it’s got to be on my terms.

About 10 years or so ago, at one of Emily’s lowest points in her depression struggle, we got into a knock-down, ugly fight. I don’t even remember what started it- something dumb I am sure, but whatever it was made me snap. Emily had the quick temper- she lost it at the drop of a hat, blew up, got mad, and got over it. Me though—I stew about things. I let it fester. It takes a lot to get me to lose it, but when I do, it’s nasty. This particular fight, I’d had it with her. I screamed and threw things and acted like a lunatic. I got so angry, that I don’t even remember what happened. But I freaked my parents out enough that they insisted on taking me to a therapist. With much wailing and gnashing of teeth, I gave in and said I would go- basically just to get them off my back. Talk about a moody, sulk teenager.

This woman was horrible. Completely horrible. It was the same counselor that Emily was talking to at the time, and so she’d already heard all about how awful I was from Emily. She told me that I was making Em’s life harder, and that I needed to understand that I wasn’t the one with the illness, and that I needed to be more understanding of Emily’s “disease.” Yet again, everything was about Emily.

I felt invisible.

I went once or twice, and then refused to go again. She may have had some valid points, but all the angry 15 year old heard was that it was all my fault Emily was still depressed. And that haunted me for years.
Emily actually started seeing someone different shortly after that. Turns out she wasn’t helping Emily much either. But even though I know this particular counselor was nuts, my distrust of “head shrinks” deepened after that.

The intelligent, adult part of me realizes that that one bad experience does not mean all counselors are like that. And that it probably would really help to talk to someone. But the scared, angry, confused 15 year old part of me is still afraid that it really is all my fault.

Fear has a way of controlling you. Which isn’t a good thing when you have control issues.

So I’m thinking on the counselor thing. I’m not there yet, but I’m thinking it’s time I get over myself and stand up to some of this fear.

I may not have Harry Potter’s magic Penseive, but maybe someone else can help me sort through the mess in my head.