it’s the same old story again

(started on 11.7.09)

it’s the question we’ve heard a million times here at the smussyolay: why am i doing this?  i am back in therapy again, and like has happened a million times before, what i think i’m going to talk about on any given day, ends up being the last thing that gets brought up or gets ignored or never even comes to mind.  i remember leaving off the time before with us about ready to get to my drug and alcohol history and somehow we ended up talking about the blog and having my shit on the internet and “why do you do it, what do you get out of it, what’s the purpose of it all” sort of conversation.

it’s the conversation and set of questions i’ve asked myself here a million times: how much is too much, why am i doing this, should i take it down, is it all ego, have i said too much, is this about a dialogue, or a diary or delving into demons?  why is this here? what is the purpose? you have all been around to hear me muse about these things time and time and time again, ad fucking nauseam.  i never seem to be able to come up with a convincing answer; one that suits me enough to tear it down or to really feel entirely comfortable enough to feel like i can stand upon these words with complete reckless abandon and not feel wary about a potential employer happening upon them without regret.


so, he asked and i was left to wonder again what the answer/s to that question really were.  and as is likely to happen in the world of therapy, it spawned new and more exciting avenues of thought and discussion.  suddenly, we were discussing how hard it is for me to accept compliments and what it would mean if i were to actually receive what it was people were giving me and to hear what it was they were saying about/to me and what it would mean if i were to accept their praise or their love.  what would that mean? he said, and once again, i had no answer.  i was truly flabbergasted.  my defense mechanisms of humor and quick wit were taken from me and i was rendered hopelessly speechless; left with my emotions, which were paralyzing and leaving me unable to speak, writhing in my physical space.

continued here at 4:14 am 11.15.09


we’re working it out … i feel weird, it’s like we’re getting to things so quickly.  getting to this idea that i keep people at a distance by not accepting their thoughts, their words, their communications about me.  by brushing them off somehow, changing the subject.  by not having to feel.  it went a little further the other day, back to the same old story of how my head and my body/heart/emotions aren’t connected.  how when one is working (usually my head), i’m not very much in touch with my emotions.  when my emotions are on, my head is turned off. i don’t think very well, if at all. my memory switch gets turned to the “off” switch.  i don’t know how to connect the two together at this point.  


we talked  — he talked on this point — about how i could integrate the two together.  about having strong emotions and being able to process them. about how to think about them and still feel them and then be able to do both during the event or after the event.  it is striking to me that even sitting there in that chair, that when i really started to contemplate it all, i got panicky. i felt myself getting uncomfortable and started to lose my thinking.  i started to lose my rational thought.  he would be telling me things and i literally lost the ability to make sense of them.  it was like i was acting stupid, but i really wasn’t acting. it was as if i no longer could understand english, because all the blood that my brain needed for comprehension was now being used somewhere else.


he’s kind.  he seems so young, my therapist — my person in his last year of training or however it goes.  part of me wants to show him that i am not trying to be difficult here — that i really am trying to absorb this stuff and trying to figure out a way to change.  i went home this last time and my back was really hurting (my whole body has been a mass of tension and pain for weeks now) and i laid on the floor to try and relieve it.  i stretched and moved and did what i could.  i laid there, contemplating what we had talked about. and i thought about emotions and what i was feeling.  and i went through anger and sadness. and then it hit me … it was fear. it was always about fear. it’s always about fear. and then, i started to let go and cry. lying on my back on the livingroom floor, i sat there with my hands over my eyes and cried.


about how i’ve been afraid for so long. since i was a little girl and i wasn’t sure if my father was going to live, but i just wouldn’t let that show. i couldn’t. i wasn’t confident there’d be anyone there to help me through it or be there for me or let me be okay with being scared.  so, i just went on about my business and took care of it myself.  i remember my therapist saying that i had developed a ‘sophisticated’ defense mechanism, and i remember other people saying that before as well.  and i just thought that it was all well and good and lovely but how tiring it was and how much i just wish i could not have to walk around in so much unconscious fear.



continued here at 2:18 am 11.18.09

because of a weird scheduling thing, i ended up at therapy on thu and this monday — a short period of time between sessions.  as i was watching ‘away we go’ with john krasinski and maya rudolph (god, i love both of those actors), i was reminded of something that my spiritual advisor, billy, said to me once.  he remarked that he could see that i often saw myself as outside of myself.  that i saw myself as part of a movie or a character in a play.  that instead of being inside of my body or my emotions, i related to the world as a director or as watching it from the outside.  i certainly related to this, because i often feel this way. i get the ‘wide angle lens’ view and i *do* hear the soundtrack of my life and i see things as perfect scenes in movies and i see things from a directorial point of view.

cool, in a way, but it also means i’m not quite experiencing the event myself.  one of the things we’re getting right to in therapy (which is sort of interesting; i thought there’d be a lot of ‘recap’ time to get my therapist up to speed, and for whatever reason, it seems like we’re getting right to the heart of the matter right away, which is really good and really scary at the same time) is the old idea that my head and my heart aren’t connected.  that i process everything on an intellectual level.  i think that’s *one* of the reasons i’ve always been so eager to do this blog.  it allows me to process events and get them sorted out — in an intellectual way. writing is definitely a left-brained activity.  it allows for some sort of feedback; but in a very safe and distanced sort of way.  i don’t have to hear you or face you when you give it to me.  it also allows me to sort of put it out there with no real emotional ties.  they’re there, but it’s definitely distancing.  from the emotions and from me and you.

anyway, something that hit me when i was watching the movie was that i often cry and feel very strong emotions watching film/art/hearing music.  but it’s a way for me to empathize with characters.  i can very quickly ‘feel’ what they’re feeling.  i can get into movies and situations in them very easily.  and i realize it’s a ‘safe’ way to feel emotions and be cathartic and let them be my emotions filtered through other ‘people.’  they’re my emotions and fears and hopes and dreams and loss and grief put on through another person.  and then i can feel them very, very deeply and let them go.  i can experience them somehow. i don’t know why that’s okay somehow.  cause they are still very strong.  but for some reason, i think it’s okay, because i know they have an end.  they can’t last longer than the movie, and generally there will be some sort of resolution.  and often a decent one at that.

it’s been really interesting going through this process.  i still feel hesitancy when i’m in session with my therapist. i still feel the old need to please him somehow. i still feel resistance to share myself entirely with him. it’s a raging battle — be open and honest — firstly, because that’s who i genuinely am, secondly, because i want to change and thirdly, because i want to please this person and on the other hand, resistance to show too much of my hand, because you don’t do that.  that’s how you get hurt.  that’s how people get at you.  that’s how people turn.

i just want to make this easy on myself — give him the link – tell him to read the smussyolay.  somehow, i don’t think that’s how this all works.  oh well.  i know i want to change and i want better for myself.  but i’m just so much more damn articulate in writing.  right?

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