Hypocrisy
So. Counselling.
I know. I bet you can’t wait for me to talk about myself some more. Hell, maybe I should just publish me some mis-lit* and have done with it.
The thing about counselling is that it hurts. While on the one hand there’s a sort of validation that I have a right to be this fucked up, it’s also incredibly painful to sit and talk about how I feel. That’s the one thing I don’t do, you see – talk about how I really feel. I’m what my (scarily psych-educated) ex-boss calls “insecure avoidant”, which basically means that, although I want my head to shut up, I can’t engage with anyone who might put me in touch with my feelings. Bit of a Mexican stand-off, really.
Until today, when my therapist tried a bit of Cognitive Behaviour Therapy with me. I really am a fuckup – encourage me to discuss my past and accept that I am the product of my upbringing and I’ll clam up tighter than a nun’s chuff. However, give me a piece of paper and ask me to objectively assess the positives in my life and I’ll happily spend fifteen minutes crying like Gwyneth at the Oscars and wailing about how sick and tired of everything I am. Such a conundrum, me.
If I’m honest, I hate the counselling. But a little tiny bit of me knows that if I stop I’ll end up in a very scary place and I don’t want that to happen. So I keep on trucking, and every week my therapist looks that little bit closer** to calling for the men with the butterfly nets and those comfy jackets that do up at the back.
I mean, something has to work, doesn’t it?
Doesn’t it?
* Ugh. Please stop.
** Seriously. This afternoon I think I was about ten minutes away from being bundled into the back of a black van and driven to the loony bin. eep.
I know. I bet you can’t wait for me to talk about myself some more. Hell, maybe I should just publish me some mis-lit* and have done with it.
The thing about counselling is that it hurts. While on the one hand there’s a sort of validation that I have a right to be this fucked up, it’s also incredibly painful to sit and talk about how I feel. That’s the one thing I don’t do, you see – talk about how I really feel. I’m what my (scarily psych-educated) ex-boss calls “insecure avoidant”, which basically means that, although I want my head to shut up, I can’t engage with anyone who might put me in touch with my feelings. Bit of a Mexican stand-off, really.
Until today, when my therapist tried a bit of Cognitive Behaviour Therapy with me. I really am a fuckup – encourage me to discuss my past and accept that I am the product of my upbringing and I’ll clam up tighter than a nun’s chuff. However, give me a piece of paper and ask me to objectively assess the positives in my life and I’ll happily spend fifteen minutes crying like Gwyneth at the Oscars and wailing about how sick and tired of everything I am. Such a conundrum, me.
If I’m honest, I hate the counselling. But a little tiny bit of me knows that if I stop I’ll end up in a very scary place and I don’t want that to happen. So I keep on trucking, and every week my therapist looks that little bit closer** to calling for the men with the butterfly nets and those comfy jackets that do up at the back.
I mean, something has to work, doesn’t it?
Doesn’t it?
* Ugh. Please stop.
** Seriously. This afternoon I think I was about ten minutes away from being bundled into the back of a black van and driven to the loony bin. eep.
posted by surly girl at 7:42 pm
11 Comments:
I prescribe beer and curry. We can get drunk and talk about the weather and if you're really lucky we can talk about me, me, me leaving you to avoid talking about yourself. Hurrah! Then I can get so drunk that I cry leaving you to think "actually I can't be that bad, look at the state of her".
That okay?
Hey Surly, you are strong and you are brave, and the least likely person I know to be comfortable with Counselling, but that makes it all the more brilliant that you have taken the step of going there. The unfurling or your ball of string to make things even more messy is just the process you have to go through in order to wrap it all up neatly (or something equally as pop-psych!). People that love you are very proud of you and your messy head! x
I see every day what a painful process this is for you. You must never worry about how this affects us, it doesn't, because I know we are rock solid and I will be with you for the rest of my life.
You have to persevere and see this through for the sake of your own well being. Small Person and I NEED you in our lives and we love you unconditionally.
I was going to write something uplifting and cheery but i think other half said it all- i can't top that. amazing!
oh yes, it's going to suck bad. this is all the suck that you put off having because you were busy surviving it at the time.
it happens, and then it will be over. and that's the great part. it finally gets to be over, instead of staying just as painful and huge.
hang in there, darling. i've been there and through and it really does work and you really will be o.k.
XOOfn
The ball of string analogy is, I think, a really good way of describing what you're going through. Clearly, when it's all undone, you have OH and SP to help you wrap it all up again. You're doing the right thing Surly although I'm sure it's painful right now. I am so impressed that you're doing this, really, truly.
All the best people are nutters, darling. At least you have a legit excuse to run topless through the Seal stealing chips from people's plates.
Firstly-I dont think too many people can be comfortable discussing things with a person whom you know is evaluating everything you say!
Secondly-You should not think too much of it because people with issues are by far the most fascinating people that I know!!!!
I'll tell you what-I am being driven crazy off late because of these weird emotions that have come to life and I need to know whether I am headed towards loony-ness-(a small incident among the many that have taken place is as follows)-
I just blasted this friend(like we are no longer on talking terms) of mine becasue after he saw 300-he has been obsessed with Spartans-whereas I have been in love with Sparta since my father told me about them when I was very little-and I hate sharing things I like(I get extremely sensitive when anyone in my hostel plays Coming Back to Life-its my song!!!!!So no one steals Sparta away from me-stupid man!!!!
It's existential despair, as eni fule kno ...
Seriously, when I found out that what I was suffering from was nailed-down stratjacketed white-hot anger, I felt a lot better. I'm much nicer to people now, too.(My angry self hates myself for that.)
Hang on in there Surly. You can do it. Bit by bit - it will be ok. x
I was only just thinking how I miss seeing my psychotherapist. Once I got through the Really Horrible Shit it got really good, and - I hate to say it - rather enjoyable.
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