Yesterday was... interesting. I had my appointment with Lady A. I've been gluing this thick cord around a box during my appointments, just for something to do, and we decided to put something inside before I sealed it. After some contemplation she decided to have me write down every negative thought about myself down to stick in the box. I ended up with about 200 tiny slips of paper. Kinda depressing. To add some weight for symbolism or whatever I'm gluing them to rocks.
Yep. I spent an hour just gluing paper shreds to a rock. My life is awesome. :D
Lady A said that we have a lot to talk about next week. I wish yesterday's session had been about four hours long, because now I'm dreading the discussion and I just want to get it over with. Rather than sit and stew over it for 8 days. Bleh.
I've been thinking a lot lately about the whole patient/doctor relationship paradigm. (Woah, that felt weird to write.) I mean, Lady A seems like a kind person who truly cares about what I have to say, but let's be real: that's her job. How much of her oncern is real, and how much is just a professional facade used to keep her job? I want to believe that she cares, but knowing what I know... ugh. Her job is to listen to me blather on narcissistically for 50 minutes each week. Heck, I get the essentially same effect from this blog but for $150 cheaper. You know? (Though the fact that she responds and my nonexistent readers don't makes it a little different.) Not entirely sure where I'm going with this. Hmm. Just after my last bit of cutting she called in Dad to talk about it, and I was pissed. I felt betrayed and honestly didn't know if I wanted to come back the next week because I didn't trust her anymore. I still don't, not really, but that episode helped me reevaluate how much to censor myself around her. I haven't cut since then (88 days!) so I don't need to lie about that, but I could never say anything about restricting. If I tell her she'll tell dad, and I'd rather quit therapy than let him find out. I can't let him find out.
So on one hand, this whole airing my dirty (thought) laundry is good, cause it helped me realize what all I hate about myself that I can change. I can lose weight, I can hold my temper, I can learn to keep my mouth shut. I can fix some of it. But there are some things tat I can't fix, and I don't want to dwell on these things. Lady A will make me confront them, and it's not gonna be good. The one I'm worried about most, honestly is 'fat'. It's written more than once, and when I grabbed it the first time she just said, "we'll talk about that one," really quietly. Fuck.
I just wanna eat my lettuce and go back to bed.
I'm scared.
No comments:
Post a Comment