20.10.14 (Day 302)
12.42
I'm just back from CRI after a second meeting with my key worker. To say it was traumatic would be putting it mildly. It was like digging up my own grave after I've been buried.
Apparently I'd been excluded from CRI for non-attendance of previous meetings when I was last attending meetings, or not as it happens. I'd buried my head in the sand. Due to an administrative error, I've been taken on again as a "client", so today was the day we dug up the rest of my corpse.
I'd been through the how-did-you-come-to-be-here? forms before, covering the broken marriage, lost kids, broken engagement, collapsed business, lost homes and kids before. Today that all had to be dug up again and it hurt, as does my leg. The leg I broke 28 years ago now and which was near to being amputated but for a team of reconstructive surgeons. At the moment I wish I could have it cut off; it's that painful. But I walked with it (on it) to CRI. If my leg had been amputated, I'd gladly have laid it to rest in the grave we were digging up.
CRI remains a necessary evil and a means to an end: an end which is still probably a long way off but I need to make the next jump, not least of all because my tenure at the current safe house needs to come to an end soon. I'm not being made to feel unwelcome at all but I feel I've out-stayed my welcome, am getting under feet and creating tension, no matter how much I try to keep myself to myself. Regardless of my intentions, depression and tiredness breed stress in me and it's contagious.
But I have my calming influences, not least of whom is the wife. Among others, she's helping with the fledgling business. I ask; she says yes. I do; she does.
I'm an impatient soul and I'm growing impatient now in wanting to move things along; to bury the old life and what led to this one and to get on with the life ahead.
To get a new bed and sleep in it.
12.42
I'm just back from CRI after a second meeting with my key worker. To say it was traumatic would be putting it mildly. It was like digging up my own grave after I've been buried.
Apparently I'd been excluded from CRI for non-attendance of previous meetings when I was last attending meetings, or not as it happens. I'd buried my head in the sand. Due to an administrative error, I've been taken on again as a "client", so today was the day we dug up the rest of my corpse.
I'd been through the how-did-you-come-to-be-here? forms before, covering the broken marriage, lost kids, broken engagement, collapsed business, lost homes and kids before. Today that all had to be dug up again and it hurt, as does my leg. The leg I broke 28 years ago now and which was near to being amputated but for a team of reconstructive surgeons. At the moment I wish I could have it cut off; it's that painful. But I walked with it (on it) to CRI. If my leg had been amputated, I'd gladly have laid it to rest in the grave we were digging up.
CRI remains a necessary evil and a means to an end: an end which is still probably a long way off but I need to make the next jump, not least of all because my tenure at the current safe house needs to come to an end soon. I'm not being made to feel unwelcome at all but I feel I've out-stayed my welcome, am getting under feet and creating tension, no matter how much I try to keep myself to myself. Regardless of my intentions, depression and tiredness breed stress in me and it's contagious.
But I have my calming influences, not least of whom is the wife. Among others, she's helping with the fledgling business. I ask; she says yes. I do; she does.
I'm an impatient soul and I'm growing impatient now in wanting to move things along; to bury the old life and what led to this one and to get on with the life ahead.
To get a new bed and sleep in it.
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