i’m as fucking cliche as they come


if it’s not freud and your father, it’s something fucking else.  let’s talk transference this week, shall we?  so, i’m back in therapy.  fucking swell.  to catch y’all up to speed (it’s y’all. not ya’ll.  you all. not … what the fuck would ya’ll be short for? ya all?  okay, in the south maybe that’s actually relevant with a drawl.), it’s emotions emotions emotions.  at least, that’s how i’m seeing it.

where are mine? why am i afraid of them? why do i have a hard time accepting other people’s toward me? when do mine come out? where? how? why? in what amounts?  why aren’t my mind (thinking) and body (emotions) linked?  why did i just start to grab my head there?

anyway … in the short time i’ve been back in therapy, i’ve started to think about these things a lot — but started to feel a lot because of them, too.  i’m hearing my therapist’s questions in my head (i *do* want to change and i want answers — my good student side convinces me it’s because i need to impress him or i’m doing this for him or i need to please him, look good for him, something _____ him.  it’s directed outward, for sure.) and i’m searching for answers.

meanwhile, all these opportunities keep being put in my path.  people “randomly” telling me what they think of me — complimenting me on my fashion, telling me they admire something about my personality, etc. etc.  giving me another chance to stop and actually try and listen and open myself up to what they are giving me — not just intellectually, but emotionally as well.  it’s hard.

and then wednesday night, i get thrown another piece of my emotionally strained pie.  a very quick exchange of heated words with a friend in front of a small group of other friends leaves me FURIOUS. fucking FURIOUS. the things i have floating around in my head to say back are ringing with rage, when i can grab words — mostly, i am shellshocked with emotions and can barely think.  this is one of my best friends in the world, mind you, and i can’t believe this is happening.  THIS is what strong emotions are like.  

at one point, my therapist asked me if i was hesitant to be involved with my emotions because of my bipolar. at the time, i was sort of offended at the suggestion.  god, what did he think, i was some fucking out of control wackjob?  did he think i was completely off the handle, rapid cycling like a freak?  i somewhat summarily dismissed the concept out of hand.  however, i should have known better — any time something gets at me like that, there’s usually something to it. 


i have VERY VERY strong emotions, people.  i know you have seen me be passionate about this or that. i know that’s part of my character. i am glad for my love of things and my ability to fight for things when it’s called for.  and i also think part of all of it is my “old soulness.”  i think my sensitivity to psychic energies and feeling situations around me all play into my emotional scene.  but, let’s face it.  i’m coming to find out that yes, i can flip on a dime.  and yes, my emotions come hard and fast sometimes. and yes, they are what my high school friend used to call “deep and wide.” they’re extensive. they’re huge. they’re of monstrous proportions.  i don’t know that other people feel the way i do. i don’t know that other people go the places i do.  think the things i do.  it’s fucking scary, honestly.


now, i’m not wont to get into details, because let’s face it.  i’m not killing myself, i’m not killing anyone else. i’ve never even come close. i’m a fucking pacifist.  but, the FEELINGS that accompany some of these situations are fucking hardcore. serious insane rage — coming from that exchange of words.  rage.  hateful fucking over the top rage.  i wanted to smash, punch, rage, kick, freakthefuckout on something or someone.  but i didn’t. i just didn’t.  and it’s like … what the motherfuck? what did i sign up for here?  did i really say i wanted to change? deal with emotions? get into this shit really deep?


cause i wanted to leave the therapist a voicemail (here’s the transference part, kids) and give him holy hell. i still kind of want to go in there on monday and rip his fucking face off.  nice, hey? it’s not his fault. he didn’t do anything.  he’s just sitting there, doing his deal, trying to help me out.  he’s just probably working his ass off for nothing and trying to make a difference in this world.  but i wanted to leave him a horrible message on wednesday night and tell him what a fuck i thought he was. how dare he lead me here and leave me stuck with nothing against all of this. leave me wondering what to do with all this denial and suppressing rage, motherfucker.


and even as i’m having this fucking daymare about leaving this wretched message — of which would have been at least 50% choked out of ragged breath and bitter sobs — i am knowing what a fucking cliche it is to be pissed off at your therapist for nothing.  for being mad and angry and afraid and never ever ever having the time or the energy or the wherewithal to do these emotions with any sort of normal concentration or dose or release and now being left with some crazy ass amalgam of improvisation and desperate need and forced reaction when even the slightest bit of pressure is put upon me.  it’s like having a structure that has held up in whatever sort of condition for whatever amount of time, but the second a slight crack is exposed, it starts to fall apart in short order.


all i can think is: i never signed up for this. i never signed up to be manic-depressive or grow up in that house. never signed up to be an alcoholic.  never signed up to be codependent. never signed up to have a precocious fucking head that runs all the fucking time. never signed up to feel everyone’s fucking pain.  never signed up to be psychic and intuitive. never signed up to be so fucking alone.  how the fuck did i get myself here? how did i manage to find myself here at this stage in the game?  for fuck’s sake!? and he has to listen to me and he can’t tell anyone else and he seems smart enough and so i want to tell him what a fucking fuck he is.


10 bucks says come monday i won’t.  i don’t know what i’ll do. something has to give, though.  because i can’t stand feeling like this.  i guess i fucking go back to this ridiculous self-obsessive, diary, journal, blog.  where i make an ass out of myself and try to talk it out.  at least i don’t have anyone else to bring down with me this time. 






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