Slightly Broken: Dreading The Past in the Future

Again, another that I wrote before I’d started committing to the whole bloggy thing. And it feels to me like I need to include these things because this is for me an account of understanding myself, partly through the agency of therapy but also the conscious decision to lay out (if not confront) some aspects of my life. So this is from 01/05/12 following a therapy session which I found really difficult.

Why do I start to crash emotionally when I have nothing in particular to do? Is it because I’m well aware of what happens when I’m unoccupied: my thoughts wind back to unhappy memories and invent ways in which I can be unhappy – so I’m trying to avoid them. Is that self-help therapy? Quite annoyed with myself that I’m, on the verge of talking about the underlying shit from my past but not quite going there when talking to my Brain Lady. It’s frustrating to not know whether she’s got it in mind to explore more deeply than just the sleep and relationship habits – whether I’ve evaded or hinted at things. Do I want to talk about them? I don’t know. And yet, if, underneath these problems are the causes (however displaced) of my proper habits and states then this is the time to discuss them. Or is it? Do we really have the time or objective of getting into the heart of things? Or am I now minimising and diverting attention from myself? For pity’s sake. But if this new routine does fix my sleep… why get into the past at all?

I feel sick. Whether it’s the prospect of enduring the coming team meeting and presentation or from the last hour of discussion about myself I can’t tell. It’s the getting near to these thoughts and feelings that is perversely making me feel worse and more nervous; perhaps because I’m allowing myself / being allowed to avoid it all. Do I just need to confess that in addition to the dead feelings, relationship equality worries and sleep fucktedness there’s this history of being abused in my teens and the self-harm that resulted from it as well as the years of failing to resolve that?

I’ve kind of put much of this into abeyance through time and other activities and now I feel like it’s all back – and although I do feel differently about it all, the chance of bringing it up and discussing it again – for the first time, given my penchant for written emoting – this is making me unwell. I do feel sick and somewhat faint at the prospect of talking anyone through what happened to me just so that they can maybe help me.

How to communicate something I’ve repeatedly failed to communicate about? Just say it. Write is as the opening gambit and then start the therapy session with it? Hardcore. Or write it and somehow get it to my Brain Lady – to do what with? Read it and ask me questions? This feels fucking childish. Is this just outside the remit of these sessions? Circular: don’t want to talk about and can’t talk about it so don’t need to talk about it because that’s not the purpose of these sessions. So…. nowhere then.

Start a brutally honest blog about it all and see how it feels? What’s making this hard and all backwards is that at the moment I feel fine – because I’m doing all this self-work and so I feel I don’t need to do this. Which is false. Because I feeel fine-ish during this period of prescription and extra care I’m ignoring how I may feel when left to my own devices once more. And that’s just stupid. This is an opportunity for me. It’s not about my Brain Lady. It’s about me and I can get from this as much as I want to. So I guess I need to make some decisions. Or just act – and see what results from that. Follow an improv principle – commit and react. Terrifying.

I have the answers and most of the questions but if they remain unspoken how can they be used?

Later:

Okay so I’ve successfully spent the rest of the day in self-induced rage and tension. Well done. Have failed to be able to talk to M about it. I’m going to have to do something about this blog idea, because this is getting silly. I’m angry with myself for putting me in this situation. My problem (or one of them) is that I really want to do a cry for help, but I’m never loud or clear enough when I do – so I’ve rarely been noticed in my various attempts over the years. Perhaps it’s because I think it is terribly crass or something to demand help, but less so if someone else offers it to me – with the degree of forecefulness I require to engage.

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