Once More Unto the Breach
Last week, as I mentioned, ended up being a very sad week. I have been back and forth on whether or not to blog about why, but in the end, I do not. Or not now. Maybe when it is not so fresh. Maybe never. It is hard to say if when it is not so fresh it seems like something worth announcing on the interweb.
This week is better.
And, thank fucking god, my therapist is back from vacation.
One tic I have, one steeped in a rich broth of fuckwittery, is that I have a hard time knowing what the truth is. It's probably a natural tendency I have anyway, just one of those people who can generally see both sides, all sides, of a story, and believe each one in turn has its own shred of truth. It can be an asset, I think, but it has been used against me with some vigor, with both external and internal force.
My therapist has no such tic. Though she does not tell me what to do, she does have an obvious and decided sense of what is right and what is wrong, what is just, and what is fair. From what I have gathered from her advice, I think that her views of these things line up with my own somewhat blurrier visions of these concepts. Talking with her makes me feel more solid and I come away from the appointments calmer and often quite happy. It's like she gives me a break from the parts of myself I find exhausting.
A couple of sessions ago, we finally got down to some brass tacks. I finished bawling, pulled my head up from between my knees, and said "For chrissakes. Daddy issues. So fucking boring." It made her laugh. I blew my nose and smiled wanly in return.
This week, we figured out that there's a bit of a hole where the loving myself is supposed to go, so I can be too dependent on other people's opinion of me, which makes me dislike myself more for needing it, and gets me wound up and fretty and worried and blah blah blah fucking blah.
If it weren't so funny that I've spent god knows how many hours and how much money to come up with "daddy issues" and "lack of self-regard," I'd be kind of disgusted with myself for being so damn ordinary. Instead I just snort, roll my eyes, and book the next appointment.
2 comments:
Oh Megan, I have the same problem with the relativity of truth. At times it's a blessing because it makes me more open and tolerant and non-judgemental. But at times it's a curse because sometimes I just want clarity, dammit. So much time and effort that goes into examining everything from every conceivable angle.
I don't believe in astrology, but it's a classic Libran trait and I am the quintessential Libran. (You might be too.)
I had the same reaction when my Daddy issues were uncovered. I said to my therapist: "It took a YEAR to find out I'm a Freudian cliche!!??" I hope you can take comfort in the idea that there are worse things than ordinary when it comes to inner turmoil. You are extraordinary in every other way. ~Your Stegger.
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