Creme Brûlée

Up until very recently, along with my Celiac Disease, I was lactose intolerant.
Since discovering that I can eat diary again, without too much discomfort, I have found that any time creme brûlée is offered on a dessert menu, I have to have it.
I can always judge a good creme brûlée. First of all, the surface area of the top crunchy bit has to exceed the circumference of the bottom of the vessel. (I want a larger area of the top crunchy bit and a smaller bottom bit). Secondly, Vanilla. Enough said. Finally, creme brûlée is only something I want to eat somewhere else. I own two torches and I know how to make it but the fact that it is available, and safe for me to eat somewhere else, is what makes it special.

The idea that somethings are only okay in certain circumstances is a really difficult concept for me. Creme brûlée is dessert and really, my rules around it are self-imposed in order to maximize its awesomeness for me.
What I mean, is that I don't understand why I feel uncomfortable talking about the way I feel face to face, whereas I'm totally cool to let it all hang loose here.

If people ask me questions about my health or how I'm doing, I generally say, "okay". I don't want to elaborate and truth be told, I am okay. Then, rather than sitting in an awkward conversation about how I actually would rather step on pins than spend another minute being a mom, I usually change the conversation to something a lot more pleasant. As eloquently put in my last post, I have little difficulty putting on a facade of happiness.

Why is it though, that the written word is so much easier to express for me than talking?
Is it because I can edit my words here and once all is said, all has been said?
*Note: I edit this a little bit for spelling and grammar but overall, these posts are honest and from the heart (and occasionally poorly edited). I don't hold back.

I know I'm not alone. People write stuff to other people all the time. Breakups via text; firings via email; love letters via post; and thoughts of sympathy via Hallmark card. There is a whole industry devoted to expressions of the written word. (I know this because last week I visited one of my best friends at the Hallmark Mothership).

Last week, I booked my first appointment to talk to a therapist. Unfortunately my appointment isn't until the beginning of March. I have no issue going to talk to someone and I don't feel anxious about it but I am concerned. I'm concerned that I can voice my true feelings much better in a written form rather than sitting and chatting. Obviously, that will probably be the first thing that comes out of my mouth when she asks me how I'm doing.

Like writing, talking is a skill. We work to hone this skill for various reasons but I don't think that anyone has truly mastered it. Like Creme Brûlée, I feel that there is always a time and a place for talk. For me, time is now and place is here however; for my health, time is March and place is Toronto East General Hospital. Let's hope I can adapt well enough to get all things I need to discuss off my chest and continue my path to better mental health.