COMMUTE: missed two afternoons so far, love it though!
ANYTHING ELSE? Nope. Just PT.
And that nothing else is starting to get to me. We spent Labor Day weekend on the house - garage, basement, weeds in front yard - and finally this is starting to feel like we live here. Like really live here, not just staying here a while. We might still do that, but that's for another day.
Saturday as we worked in the garage I kept seeing runners and cyclists going by. That's supposed to be me. But it's not, and it depresses me. And it didn't help any that also on Saturday I uncovered the binder with my SCAD files and realized it was three years ago that day. Three years, and I'm still not recovered from it. I'm still stalled out.
In PT last week, Ben asked how I'm doing, and long story short I said I have many moments in which I feel like I'll never run again. He asked, what will it take until I believe I'll run again. I smiled, when I go for a run! But seriously, he said I need to believe I'll run again in order to get there. I said, I've been injured so much the past years since 2014 that I start to wonder if I'm just not supposed to run anymore. He has a different suggestion, that I needed to process whatever I'm stuck on- a past event or thought or something my body hasn't released yet. By not releasing it, it's manifested as injury. I do and don't believe this, but I believe it. I can think back to a number if things in 2013/2014 that undermined my self confidence, my nutrition, my approach to life, and my self care. Where to begin?! Bens knowledge of astrology, hypnosis, etc takes this to another level. Through lots of deep meditation, he learned of and processed his own blocks, and healed his chronic injuries.
I'd be afraid to go under hypnosis. Monster. Balrog. Blerch.
When I went to bed that night, I tried falling asleep open to thinking about what this could be, and ended up having two dreams: one that I had to live with my ExH but I wanted to live with LA, second that I lived in a cluttered messy house that I needed to clean. Ugh.
So to add to my Saturday depression, the mail delivered a letter from my "Premiere" health insurance telling me that they didn't think I needed much more therapy, that I'm almost normal function. Who the fuck defines normal as unable to play with kids, limo up steps, and lack of full ROM?!
This left me in depressed tears. And now days later I still feel it. I haven't processed what I need to process. And until I do, I'm stuck here.