My Own Worst Enemy

I've been making myself crazy again (and so ends the lightening the fuck up portion of our show). I could probably use some meds of my own, but that would just make me feel better and in a nutshell (haha), that's the problem. I was telling my therapist last night that the more things have seemingly stabilized at home, the more unsettled I've been feeling and how I've become my own worst enemy.

"I go looking for trouble! I've been going through my son's room looking for shit. Weed, pipes, notes from his girlfriend, whatever," I admitted, shaking my head in half embarrassment and half disbelief. "Or I'll count his pills every night just to make sure that he's taking 'em. I'm creating anxiety out of thin air."

"It's all about control," she said, for what sounded like the millionth time. "It makes you feel that you're doing something or that you can prevent something from happening. That feeling is so familiar to you, but the thing is, you can't really do anything about this. If he's gonna get high, he's gonna get high. He's either gonna take his pills or not. You have to begin to let go."

"You know, I did the same damn thing a few years ago when my wife was having an affair," I said, shaking my head again. "I frantically searched around the house looking for . . . I don't even know what I was looking for."

"Stop counting the pills and stay out of his room!" she fake yelled at me. "You can start letting go with some of these little things. And you gotta stop making yourself crazy!"

"Maybe I should start with little meds and stop seeing you," I joked and handed her a check.

"Thanks," she said. "Maybe I'll see you next week."