Unexpected Therapy

For those of you who don't know me, you should know that a large part of who I am comes from an event that happened almost eleven years ago, when I was 19. My mother (a beautiful, giving, intelligent, kind woman) died from a drug interaction when she took the allergy drug Seldane, which is now off the market. She died very suddenly, but was revived by paramedics and existed in a coma for 10 days before her body quit working. In addition to major depression and an eating disorder that is still ravaging my mind and body, my relationships with my loved ones became a major source of pain. I tried to handle everything on my own for about eight years, and when I finally realized that I couldn't heal on my own, I found an outstanding therapist while I was at school in Miami who really got me on the road to recovery.

A few weeks ago, I was watching Lost, which is definitely one of my favorite shows, and I was fascinated by Boone's relationship with his step-sister Shannon. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't have any pseudo-incestual relationships or anything like that, but I did realize that I've allowed a few of my relationships to reach a level of co-dependence that isn't healthy. So, thanks to Boone, I've decided to subtly re-define the boundaries of a few of my relationships so there will be a healthy balance.

Earlier this week, I read a children's book called Ida B. . . and Her Plans to Maximize Fun, Avoid Disaster, and (Possibly) Save the World by Katherine Hannigan. It is the story of a spunky, creative little girl and the way she reacts to her mother's battle with cancer. It is funny and emotional. Now, I didn't know that Ida's problem in the book was facing her mother's mortality, or I may not have read it as a light evening read. Once I was under Ida B.'s spell, however, my heart just ached as she went through the pain of her story. After I finished the book, I sobbed and wailed for about an hour. Now, if you don't know me, you should know that I am usually not an overtly emotional person, so this was really unusual for me. For years after Mom died, I refused to even begin to feel the pain that came with the loss because I was so afraid that once I opened the floodgates I'd never be able to shut them again. I learned in therapy that I can release the pain bit by bit, but each bit is still going to hurt. I'm always surprised by how raw and sharp the pain is. It's like my heart is infused with shards of glass - sure it aches as a whole, but removing each sliver causes a sharp pain that is even harder to bear.

I never expected to make therapy breakthroughs from Lost or a kids' book, but I guess you take life's lessons wherever you can find them.