[I’m sorry… this is a long post… of course, you don’t have to read it… but maybe you will. Please remember… you told me I didn’t have to hold back! Of course, I’m still totally worried about posting this. And… please, please, laugh at me. I use humor in all parts of my life… sometimes it’s the only way I get through stuff. And I like to think it kind of proves I’m not totally nuts… and that I always still have a sense of humor… no matter what.]
About a week ago, I visited a healthcare professional I’ve known for almost two years. I visit every month or two and I think she has a decent grip on who I am at this point. She is, in simplest terms, my supplier.
image source: unknown
[Very loose paraphrasing follows.]
How are you doing?
———I’m okay… fine.
———I guess not. Still overthinking things… working myself up needlessly.
———Worrying too much about the kids, for no real reason…
———And worrying about all sorts of other things.
We should increase the [name of chemical assistance here].
———[At this point, I am crying.]
What else is going on? [She’s not an idiot…]
———I’m upset with my husband. [Additional discussion about that here.]
———My son had a problem the other night…
———When I couldn’t figure out how to help him, I completely fell apart.
Why didn’t you tell me?
———I don’t know. I felt okay today. This happens all the time —
———When I’m here, it always seems to be on a good day. Bad days come in between.
———Then when I’m here, I don’t want to talk about it. It makes me feel crappy.
I know it hasn’t helped you in the past, but I think talking to a therapist may help.
———I don’t want to. It’s pointless. And it usually makes me feel worse.
But… [more conversation here]
———But… [more conversation here]
Think about it. Look around online. Choose a few you think might be good for you. Come back and see me in a few weeks. We can make some calls together.
———I don’t think there’s any point. And I have no idea how to choose anyway.
———It will be completely random. Might as well pull a name out of a hat. But… fine.
I fucking hate therapy. And that’s from experience. For all the times I’ve been told it will make a huge difference in the way I think, I should be on top of the fucking world by now. I should be flying around on a fucking unicorn. Alas, that is not the case. I’m not flying… I’m not at the top of anything.
At the core of my struggle are things that I do not believe can be ‘fixed‘. Yeah, some of you are thinking, “They can’t be fixed because you don’t believe they can be fixed.” I’m sorry, but that’s complete bullshit. [So if I believe I have 3 billion dollars in my bank account, will it appear? Sadly, no.] There are some things inside me that are just who I am.
I am lonely.
It doesn’t matter who’s with me. I am lonely most, if not all, of the time. I do, however, like to be alone. But that is entirely different. Alone is a proximity thing. Lonely is not. What ‘cures‘ my loneliness is, by definition, having people who love and care about me. I guess I have that, a little. I might have it more than a little, but it often doesn’t show… and if I don’t see it or feel it, it might as well not even be there. If I see no net beneath the tightrope, it’s not going to catch me when I inevitably fall.
Oh… and that ever-popular line… “you can’t/shouldn’t get your happiness from others.” Fuck that! It’s what everyone does! See above. I’m pretty sure lonely doesn’t make anyone happy… so you need people in your life who love and care about you — it cures the lonely, gives you happiness. I don’t know anyone for whom this is not true. In fact, those who say shit like this to me always ALWAYS have someone, at least one person, in their daily life who loves and cares about them. Always. Did I mention always? Always.
Yes, I am married. But that is another whole post (or several) separate from this. Let’s just say, for the moment, I rarely feel that my ‘lonely‘ goes away… even though I have him.
I believe you need companionship to avoid feeling lonely — someone special you can count on… someone who’s always there for you. Your very best friend, your husband-wife-girlfriend-boyfriend-partner. Someone. I don’t have a best friend. I do have a husband, but see above. Even if he truly does love and care about me (at times, I honestly don’t know), he is not always there for me.
I know I worry too much but that’s not going to go away. I’m going to worry about my children for the rest of my life. I worry about the world they’re living in. I worry every time they walk out the door. I worry about the future, immediate and distant. I lost my job a long while back. I worry about money. [I appreciate anyone who wants to tell me that I’m a talented writer… but I can’t get a job writing. No relevant education or work experience. No one gives a fuck if I have talent. Believe me… I’ve heard it all.]
I have little self-confidence.
I do not love everything about me. Most days I hate many things about me. Hate is a strong word. It’s probably not strong enough. I know everyone likes a confident person… so not being that person makes me even farther from being that person. You see? Every single time someone tells me to ‘be confident‘ or ‘have confidence‘ or ‘love myself‘… it’s kind of an insult.
What if someone was always telling you to just be taller! It will fix everything! Because that is the exact same thing as telling me to be something I’ll never be. It tears me down. It highlights the fact that don’t feel these things which apparently makes me fucked up… not the way I’m supposed to be… not good enough to be loved… not good enough for anything. And I feel like a failure.
Seriously, does anyone truly think that telling me how to feel – how I’m supposed to feel – is going to work? Hey, you, over there… hot guy… come over here and love me. Fuck… that would be AWESOME. I want that superpower. Sign me up.
Not you personally. No offense intended.
I don’t wanna.
I suppose if I found the ‘right’ therapist, there is the [extremely] remote possibility that I may find some value in it. Maybe. But what does finding the ‘right‘ one mean? It’s like fucking dating! See a bunch of them until I think I’ve found the right one? But even then, it still may not work out. Then start all over again? Fuck, it sounds like hell. And I don’t want to do it.
The very last thing on earth I need is something else giving me anxiety. And I have been anxious as fuck since that appointment last week.
I know, I’ve already written therapy off before I even try. But the thing is… I have tried. And it cost me lots of time and money. For nothing.
You know why? Because some things just cannot be ‘fixed‘.
In a couple of weeks, I’m going to see supplier-lady again. And she’s going to want to ‘fix me up’ with someone (like a damn blind date). And the thought just sends me on the path to a panic attack.
And the other thing is…
I feel fine. Okay, not fine because fine doesn’t mean fine…
[The scale goes: great, good, okay, not okay, I hate you, fine.]
What I mean is… I feel okay. Good even. Sometimes. Like right now. [Aside from how anxious writing about this is making me… I’m starting to cry… Ugh! See? Therapy is the kiss of death for me.]
When I feel good, I don’t want any part of this. I want to do my thing… live my life. But that’s probably wrong… because even when I’m ‘okay’ or ‘good’, I’m not sure I’m ‘happy’.
I think Dr. House is my soulmate.
When I feel like hell, which seems to happen randomly and unpredictably, I often do want someone to talk to. And I have no one. But how does therapy fix that? It’s never going to be a situation where I can call when I feel like talking. No… it’ll be whenever it’s scheduled. And whether I enter feeling good or not, when I exit, I’ll feel like hell. That is just ludicrous to me. Why would I do that to myself?
This afternoon, I talked to Mom. She noticed that I sounded good at the beginning of our conversation, but once we started talking about this… I was a crying mess. And I came to the conclusion that I don’t want this (therapy). It’s making me so anxious and it will only increase if I call someone, and increase even more if I actually have to keep an appointment. I don’t think I can do it.
The next time I feel worse than awful, though, I have no idea how I’ll deal with it. Is therapy supposed to teach me that? Because it never has. And I don’t believe it ever will.
So, what then? I’ll have periods of despair for the rest of my life? And I’ll try not to think about it as often as possible so I’ll feel okay? I guess that’s denial. But at this moment, that sounds better than therapy.
I have to stop writing about this now because not only must you want to punch me in the face for the length of this post, but it has already taken me from good to okay to not quite okay… and I don’t want to fall any lower (see scale above).