memories, music, depression, worship

I called my t this morning and told him that I did not get the job, that I blew the interview.  Then I said that I received his bill, and that I cannot pay the $150 he charged me for a no-show, that I wouldn’t be in on Tuesday for dbt or therapy and that I didn’t know when I could be back because I didn’t know when I could pay up.  I then told him that I hadn’t slept in over 24 hours and would now try to get some sleep.

I didn’t hear back from him.  Nothing.  No reassuring words about billing and how to deal with that, no words to the effect that I don’t have to drop group, so I’m assuming that I have to pay up before I can continue.  No call just to see how I’m doing.

I have called him twice in the 8 or 9 months that I’ve been with him, both times as part of homework, in learning how to trust him to help me through this.  And  he abandons me. I could see him ignoring me if I abused the privilege, but for him to just ignore me when he knows how I’ve been doing hurts.  I’ve probably worn him out.  He wants me gone, too.

I’ll miss dbt.  Being with this group has done me a world of good.  There are people in the group that I really like and care about.  One guy in particular I would have loved to have been able to form a friendship with, but I don’t think the feeling is mutual.  He’s gay, and a sweetheart.  He’s smart and sensitive and funny.  I get the feeling that he thinks I’m a dim bulb and that hurts.  And there is another woman who has a sarcastic sense of humor that I find very funny.  I’m not sure what she thinks of me, but I will miss her very much.  It’s possible that a friendship could have formed, unless I’ve been reading her totally wrong this whole time. Maybe that is only in my dreams, though.

So I find myself alone again, the idea that there is something intrinsically wrong with me has been reinforced by the job interview rejection and by my T’s rejection.  And I’m feeling foolish for ever believing that things could have been different.

There is something wrong with me that turns others off.  I am not OK.  And I don’t know what to do about it.

I’ve read that Iraqi war vets with PTSD have been dying when given the combo of seroquel and paxil, and also seroquel and trazodone, I believe.  I take seroquel and trazodone.  I should add some effexor and see if that combined with wine has the same effect on me.

I’m so tired of this life.  I’m so tired of the constant rejection.  I don’t care anymore why I am the way I am.  I don’t care.  It wouldn’t make any difference anyway if I DID know.  I’ll never change.  My life will always be one of rejection and pain and loneliness.

I had a memory last night.  A pleasant memory.  It happened to be the highest compliment that I’ve ever gotten on my guitar playing.  I was accompanying two other singers who were singing a John Michael Talbot song, I can’t remember which one anymore. It may have been the Prayer of St. Francis, or the song based on Ephesians 3:14-21.  The song starts in a minor key, is bass heavy with simple but beautiful fingerpicking.  It then lightens into a major key.  The chords are open chords with that beautiful, full sound that open chords bring.

During practice, one of the singers turned to me and said, “when you were playing I could have sworn that you were singing with us.”  I had become part of the song, unified with the whole of the music. Together we had achieved unity of spirit through music. I have no words to convey the spiritual release that I’ve gotten in playing my guitar over the years, especially when something magical happens as did this particular time. I have no words to describe what it’s like to be able to express my soul through music.

I used to accompany my sister who is an exceptionally talented singer and worship leader.  I never felt more whole than when I accompanied her, uniting fingers on strings to her voice.  I vividly remember watching her like a hawk, sensitive to her mood, to her vocal expression, to the dynamics and mood of the song. What trust it must have taken for her to know that I would be there, filling in the gaps, providing structure to her narrative. That I would provide the rhythm, the tone, the beginning and the endings to her melodious vocals. And now it’s over, the magic is gone. We are separated by miles, by ideological differences, she has moved on and I have lost my way.

I started to cry, a wound in the depths of my soul opened, years of neglect, of rejection, of pain began to flow.  I miss worshiping, offering my guitar up to God. I cannot express the loneliness, the desolation, the feeling of exile that I feel.  My soul is empty and dying, it has craved and needed to be fed with relationships, with expression through music and others and it’s gone without for too many years. It is dying and mourning.

And again, I am so tired of bearing this burden of the outcast.  When will it be over?  What lesson do I need to learn?  Why does this have to be a solitary thing, why can’t anyone help me thru this?

Why would God create me with this need but deny me the means with which to fulfill it? Why would a loving God do that to someone?