This week marks my third session with my therapist after spiraling into a depression from getting a tattoo I didn’t realize I didn’t want. That sounds weird, I know. I really like my therapist and I trust what she says, but I just can’t seem to move into self-forgiveness no matter what I do. At the end of the third session she advised that it might be time to take the antidepressant to pull myself out of this.
My fear is that I won’t pull myself out of this until my tattoo is gone. Then that fear spirals into another fear that if I go through with laser treatments to remove it that it won’t work, it will look worse, and I will feel worse. Then that fear spirals into the fear that if I feel even worse than I do now – my husband will tire of the depression and leave me. I realize this probably sounds a little cuckoo… but it is the reality of the way that my mind is working.
We actually talked about this at my therapy appointment. She called it something… the name escapes me at the moment… but basically it’s living in the world of the unknown and what-ifs, and basically punishing myself into a panic. Yes, that’s pretty much exactly what I am doing. Because I feel that I need to be punished.
I just feel so low about myself and embarrassed. Who does this!? Then I get online and see that actually a lot of people are in the exact same position as me. But, it still doesn’t make me feel better. Then I get online and look up other people’s successes/failures with tattoo removal and it completely depresses me because for every success there are about 500 failures. Is it even worth it?
The irony in all of this is, of course, that the one person that I want to talk to about all of this is my Dad. But I can’t. And my anxiety transpires from putting his signature on my arm (which I thought was something I wanted). I know he wouldn’t want me to have it on there if it was causing me this much grief, but… that in itself causes me to feel guilt as well.
See how my mind just spirals downward and outward grasping negative thoughts and emotions? It’s literally hell in here.
The other person whose opinion I value more than anybody else’s is my husband’s, but you see, he’s not much a of a “talker.” He’s a very simple man – a real dude’s dude. He doesn’t talk about feelings/emotions… and the notion of living with depression is about as foreign to him as living in the Congo. I haven’t had a depressive episode since I’ve met him – so this is not something we had to deal with while we were dating or engaged. It scares me shitless.
I guess that’s it for now. I wish my Dad would send me a sign. or something. or I could get some clarity.