Tuesday, 3 February 2009

So a Baby, His Mother, and Her Mental Breakdown Walk Into a Naturopaths Office ....

I tried to ignore it, really I did. But it wouldn't BUDGE! Darn you, post-traumatic stress. I knew I had to do something drastic when I started crying - uncontrollably, in a fucking Spin class. Spin is an amazing form of torture where you ride a stationery bike with a group of people. I thought it would be easy. I was wrong .... I was heaving, struggling, gasping to keep up. After five minutes.


I felt like such a loser, everybody else was gaily pedalling and SINGING along to the songs. But I had rivulets of sweat mixed with tears, falling all over my bike. I was stricken, didn't know why I was crying. Then I realised it was because it was such a struggle, and I am SICK of struggling. I did a Pump class straight after (I know ... but at least it's a healthy addiction. Dave and Tim sure can't grab my armfat now.)

The tears continued in my pump class, so mortifying. I pretended they were sweat. Then, I thought of that scene in American Beauty where Annette Bening's character just slaps the fuck outta herself to get a grip after she had been crying. So I mentally did that to myself, put more weight on my bar, and got on with it.

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This morning, for the first time in my life I went to a naturopath. If I'd have known how much it was going to cost, I wouldn't have gone. So, I'm glad I didn't know how much it cost, because I went. And it went well.

Funniest part was giving a "brief rundown" of my childhood and early adulthood ... her look of shock and horror almost made me ask her if I could mix up some herbs for her. Ha! I said, look, I'm OK now, I'm very in-tune and aware of myself, blah blah dysfunction blah addiction, but that's not why I'm here.

And she goes, well, why are you here? (In a nice, naturopathy way).

And I started crying my eyes out and feeling sick again, and telling her what happened, and that I don't think it's depression but it was just so BIG , and I sobbed into her tissues and couldn't breathe, and it was hard to tell her about the Day the Tumours Came.

But I did tell her about That Day, and her eyes went wide, and she didn't agree with the voice in my head that asks me "Aren't you over this yet?!" She was SO lovely.

She asked a lot of questions, mentioned words like "adrenal" "hormones" and the Big Kahuna ... "GRIEF." I'd forgotten that the body stores memories.

I usually hate labels, because over the years I have been labelled so much, but I welcomed it today. She left the room for a while, so it was just me and the baby. Her office had an American Indian dreamcatcher in it, some Buddha stuff, and a really nice vibe. After much questioning, muttering and mixing, she came back into the room and plonked all my Shiny New Herbs on the table.

Magnesium for my headaches. Ignatia. St Johns Wort. And a big fuck-off container of some stuff that is for "Nervous Exhaustion." She also told me to buy some dandelion root tea, peppermint oil for my temples, and goats gonad cream.

Ok, kidding about the gonad cream.


I had to grab the baby and run to the nearest ATM to get more cash out ..... I'm still wondering how to tell Dave that his wife feels much better after a mere $193 worth of herbs? Whoopsies! I don't spend money on myself like that lately, as I'm not "working" that much right now.


It was time to leave. The naturopath offered to help me get the pram (stroller) and baby downstairs, as there were lot of stairs. Of course I said no, because, you know ... I hate getting helped. But she helped anyway.

She pushed the pram down the first few stairs, I was holding the baby .... the bag slung over the pram fell sideways and all of the herbs and containers I had just bought off her went clanging down the stairs. Then my purse fell, and all of the tissues I had used during the session littered the stairwell.

She was like, oh, my! Trying to grab everything. I was laughing at myself, and my own Bumbleness. I nearly said "See! This is why I need to see you! I am a MESS!!"

We picked everything up, said our goodbyes, and I went bumbling down the street.

A busker was singing "Hotel California," I still know every single drunken lyric to it. I stopped in the street and pulled the baby close and danced and sang to him and he laughed. Fuck I adore my baby. He is so strong and tough. He shall conquer the world, I know it. My GOD he loves himelf some vegemite toast. There is not ONE food that he doesn't like. He's a machine.


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I took this photo of the banner in the naturopaths front reception area ... how it spoke to me! We have the biggest TV in town - it does not make us happy. I wondered if the size of your TV was in direct proportion to the size of the hole in your heart?
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