Pulling My Life Together

Pulling My Life Together
Current mood: busy
Category: Life

It looks like hundreds of people--just short of 500--have read this blog. That doesn't seem likely, unless they look, then realize I haven't written about Art or politics, or whatever they want to read.
I went shopping today, for one Hanukkah gift, a hat, and some other things. I hit only Boscov's; they had it all. Now that it's very cold, I'm wearing a down jacket, but I lost my red hat to the mice in the garage. (I dumped everything.) I bought two much too small nightshirts that stretch. I liked them and I hope I lose weight so they won't look so awful. I love to shop and sometimes I buy too much. That happens when you grow up poor and wanting things you'll never get. After that, it's hard to say no to what you want.
When I was a young teenager, my fellow students dressed in beautiful clothes, with leather handbags and shoes that were expensive. Kids like to dress the same, and everyone who could did. I came from the same background they did, but my family couldn't afford those kind of clothes if they could afford any at all. I wore hand-me-downs from my older cousin in New York. My mom didn't sew well and neither did I, but we took in Cousin Sharon's dresses and jumpers. We hemmed. I must have looked strange. I think I was the only Jewish kid who dressed poor. I felt "less than", deprived, angry, and in pain. Junior High School is always torturous, but my experience was hell. I made it hell because I didn't know how to deal with my pain and anger. My mom thought my reality was my imagination and that left no one to tell. No wonder I couldn't wait to get out of that house and school.
Nothing improved, and I got crazier, until when I was nineteen, I started psychotherapy with an unusual guy. For a long time, looking back, I denigrated what he did for me, but finally, I realize he brought me out of psychosis. I'm still wacky, and I like wacky people. He used to call me a kook, but working with him, I was able to live in reality, and eventually, to have another child. (He thought that was nuts too.) I used to get fired regularly, but I see now that was okay. I was telling the truth, and bringing light onto the insanity of the work situations. Never a good idea, but I just couldn't play along. I still can't, but now I don't want to. Don't have to.
I went for more therapy later. That stint helped me delve into my deepest feelings and accept myself.
The moral of the story is that therapy can give a desperate person a satisfying life. Definitely worthwhile.