confessions before putting on a tutu

confession: sometimes the hardest part about going to therapy is having to put on clothes and leave the apartment. if i had a nudist therapist i could skip putting on clothes. my post-retirement grandmotherly church-choir-singing therapist would prefer to see less rather than more of my flesh.

confession: my therapist and i don’t discuss sex. we discuss traumatic childhood sexual abuse. that ain’t nearly the same thing. on occasion when i might have discussed a current sexual encounter with a therapist, i don’t with her. she’s an excellent facilitator of emdr for trauma and eating disorders, but i don’t want to discuss my sex life with her, and she’d rather not hear about it either.

confession: i grinned at the dude in the grocery store carrying out flowers and chocolates as i walked in. he looked proud of himself for his thoughtfulness. i felt instant joy for the recipient.

confession: he’s getting good at buying me flowers often, regularly, before the previous bouquet expires. i’m grateful for every bloom. supposedly stuff doesn’t make people happy, but flowers definitely make me happy.

confession: since i lost my phone and all my contacts a couple months ago, it is a fun game to receive a text message from a number i don’t recognize and try to figure out the sender by context. the past two people to text me whose numbers i didn’t recognize were both extending enticing invitations. i love when people text me love. i love when people entice me with invitations and gifts.

confession: s has world-wide connections. in the past s has commented that i am difficult to buy gifts for (in spite of consistently giving me ideal gifts). this week s scored tickets to shakey’s acl taping for me. s has outdone herself in the gift-giving category. i’ve been high all week from receiving this gift from her.

confession: today the hardest part of my therapy session was doing the work, not getting dressed to go.

confession: because today’s therapy session was heart-ripping gut-cramping gagging-on-tears-that-won’t-fall hard, i left her office and drove directly to retail therapy lingerie shopping and then stopped by the grocery store to buy blue cheese and fancy crackers and a roll of spree candies for dinner. i have a long evening ahead and because i already bought lingerie and ate blue cheese on fancy crackers followed by spree candy and i still feel post-therapy zombie-esque, i’m gonna wear a tutu tonight.

confession: he and i have a competition to see who can attain model weight first. he was kidding when he suggested the competition. earlier this week i was two pounds from model weight. now i’m three pounds from model weight because i started eating again. note to novices: don’t challenge an eating disordered person to a weight loss contest, even if you’re kidding.

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About angel joy

love is an action verb. i live love in action.
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