(no subject)

I keep thinking things like "this was not my finest day" and then realize that I have no idea what my finest days even look like anymore, if I ever did.  
 

I cried a lot today.  Like, despite washing my face more than once with very cold water and drinking a bunch of water my eyes are puffy and still hurt a lot.   And I started to write a paragraph that listed all the things I cried about, but then got all up in my head about whether or not my feelings were legitimate.

Therapy was a bust, I mostly cried and Julie tried in vain to convince me to be more gentle with myself, to try to get my internal dialogue to look a little less like a movie-style abusive drill sergeant mixed with a greek chorus and a little bit more like a friend and I was having exactly zero of that. 

I don't understand how to reconcile this feeling that I need more to do with the fact that at the end of every day, there's a bunch of stuff I meant to do that I haven't done. There are so many things I want to want to be doing and it feels like almost nothing I actually want to do.  And I'm lucky, I know I'm lucky, I even feel lucky, I wish I could use that feeling as something other than a shame cudgel.   (I near punched my computer when I accidentally clicked on a link to an article about post traumatic growth).  
 

We did some things today, we'll do some more things tomorrow.   For the moment I have mint tea with far too much honey in it and that's going to have to be enough.