Sometimes I wonder if I have "the gift". Or at least the sixth sense. I'm not full-blown psychic, but I have this uncanny ability to know when something isn't right. I have a strong gut feeling on a lot of things and it never steers me wrong. Never.
The feeling starts in my sternum and if I ignore it long enough, it begins to turn into anxiety. That's when I usually start investigating. I know there's something wrong, something I need to find out. Something isn't right and I need to find out why. Some people may call this paranoia. That may be true if my investigations didn't result in actually finding something; if I really had this feeling for no reason. But there is always a reason. And I always find out why. Always.
I have perfected the art of being an investigator. My gut gives me the signal and I'm on it like a hound. I had this feeling over the weekend, but this time, it was different. I first asked Bill when his parents would be back in town (since they seem to be the number one reason for stress in our family at any given moment). He is going to be on business for a bit and it turns out that they will be here shorty after he gets back.
Bill has been working very hard on rebuilding the trust between us. I do not trust easily and it takes me forever to start taking steps on my part to bridge that gap. For some reason, I felt alright about telling him how I was feeling and asked him if anything was going on. He said that everything was fine. I resisted the urge to accept his answer and dig for the truth on my own. I rephrased the question. "Is there anything you need to tell me? Anything I need to know?"
"There is one thing. My mom and my sister are trying to get me to go to counseling with them, but I keep telling them no. I'm not going."
And there you have it. The truth. The "something" that's going on that I need to know about, the thing my gut gave me the signal on. For now, I'm leaving it as it is and we'll see what happens.