(or Shout It From the Rooftops!)
I’ve been re-reading old writings and notes and emails, trying to retrace my path of the past few years. I’m looking for patterns, for what has changed and what hasn’t. I’m trying to see where I’ve moved forwards or backwards, where I’ve gone in concentric circles, where I’ve stayed in place or just gotten stuck.
In seeing a new temporary-therapist, I’ve had to recover familiar ground and revisit old injuries. I’ve had to adjust my schedule, contort to fit into a new space, negotiate a fee. And I’ve had to contend with a whole host of new feelings – ones of loss and rejection and minimization – that caught me off guard.
I’ve had to let this other person into a space that used to only be occupied by me and my therapist. I’ve had to tell her about our relationship and things that worked well and things that didn’t. I had to rehash the Impasse, which has always felt like a dark cloud that continued to lurk over me, occasionally unleashing a torrent of anger and rage when I least suspected it.
One of the ways we found our way out of that impasse (although we still sometimes go back in) was by writing a Manifesto.