I am the attention seeking fool but that's not OK too
It’s time for a chat. A review if I will I’ve dumped the exercises, made nothing out of 2 possible leads, still stagnant job wise, dropped out of LHCF – hair growth failure- back wearing weaves and definitely looking hotter with my sexy native wear, knee high socks and long, wavy store bought hair. Damn I am hot if I do say so myself. Pity I can’t date myself.
Girl, I need to do something about my stomach, get those muscles working again. Keep on with the diet tea and appetite suppressants but really I’ve got to get some exercise in. Especially now the sun is trying to warm up this damp land.
So I have got choir practice and drawing classes nice cheap and cheerful: social interaction to prevent isolation.
Therapy 2 more left. Damn I will miss her. I will miss talking to a person. I won’t miss getting frustrated with my lack of clarity. I won’t miss the rawness, walking about like a human wound. I will miss looking forward to Mondays. I will miss my interaction with myself and her. I will miss the centeredness I feel when I am interacting with others. Almost as if I am not reacting to them, not reacting to their actions. Almost as if I am in control of myself, in control of my words. My actions don’t damn me as much as they use to.
I won’t miss the yearning. I won’t miss wondering what if this wasn’t a simulation. Can I only maintain a relationship that is purely transactional/ professional?
What was it that made me get up, why have I never missed a session? Was it purely infatuation; infatuation with the idea that here is someone, in the flesh in front of me listening to me talk? What about the frustration of not getting anything personal back?
Was that a good thing? I didn’t have to listen to her talk about herself. I probably would have loved to hear all about her life. Hear all about her life and subjugate my needs to hers.
‘Her’ doesn’t exist.
It is just me in a room with a dentist/ surgeon/plumber/painter/mechanic/bus driver/administrator/ inanimate object.
An object smothered in ethics and codes of practice; barriers and distance separating me from her.
There is no me and her.
There is me, the patient/ client. There is her, person who treats crazy people.
God I will miss her, I don’t care about the mumbo jumbo, transference/ attachment/ “therapy love”. I don’t care. I won’t care.
I will miss the person, this space, the feeling of being heard – even though I gave her grief for yawning. I will miss knowing that I can handle today and tomorrow. I will miss knowing that I just have to ride this (this being whatever overwhelms me) until Monday. I will miss my anchor and my friend.
“Friend”- Noun - A person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically exclusive of sexual or family relations.
There is nothing mutual about this affection – It needs a grand title – The relationship by which all others will be measured for all eternity!
Once a week, 16 sessions with annoying breaks for holidays and separation.
Subjugate my needs to hers? Is that what I am looking for? It may have been my modus operandi but not anymore. Not consciously anyway.
I want to be heard. I want to hear me. Not my reactions to others’ actions or my reactions to perceived interactions. I want to hear me. Not me shouting to be heard: incapable in that instant of hearing anyone else but me, nor me cowering to be heard to prevent upsetting another.
Do I make sense?
It has been so much easier dealing with family, laughing when I felt like bolting. When my chest felt constrained and tightened, when the sound of voices screeched horribly in my brain. But I handled it. I was outwardly calm- I hope I ways anyway - . I spoke up for myself - I pray I did anyway. I did not cower – though I did not demand either.
I am still the sad person I was yesterday. The hot looking sad person, excuse me!
I have got a job practice thing tomorrow. I have applied for one position way out of my league, setting myself up to failure?
I don’t feel like I will break, but I think I feel like crying.
I don’t want to say goodbye and I don’t want the sessions to end.
If there were no sessions – there would be you and me – not speaking – existing separately - strangers.
Besides I am the most entertaining patient ever!
Don’t go – Not yet – Stay till I am a hundred.
I don’t want to say out loud that when this session ends I will be alone again. This is all my verbose writings distils in to. It is that I am lonely and I am incapable making real life connections/relationships in the real world with the billions of humanity out there.
It is probably a good thing I suppose that my sessions with you are over.
I hate this.
I hate losing again.
I can actually hear my version of you say; it is because your father and mother abandoned you. But they didn’t really, did they? I was clothed and fed and taken care off. And what does it matter if they did abandon me as you say.
“My version of you”: Creepy right? I don’t want to be creepy but who is say that I am not. I am a creepy peculiar lesbian creepy under achieving manipulative exploitative desperate middle aged lesbian woman – don’t forget childless, victim cloaking looser.
I still don’t want you to go because I have made you my friend.
I can’t force people to be friends with me. I am not sure I know what to do with friends. All they seem to do is whine, complain, not take advice and feed off my being. Slurp, suck me dry. No I don’t want a friend it is too much work and friends don’t want me so it is perfect really.
I display the emotional intelligence of teenager.
All this is silly. It is so silly. It is important to me. It is real to me.
I am pathetic I will read this out to you – I am an attention seeking fool
Discussion – what did I hope to accomplish by this?
Cringe
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