(no subject)

Exactly how do I say, in group tonight, "This is the hour-and-a-half of my week that I feel is totally wasted"? Because seriously, it is. It doesn't feel productive. It's masturbatory. No one -- and perhaps this has been due to my unfamiliar presence -- makes suggestions, or even seemed interested in probing a presented situation. One perspective was enough; and one of the things I've valued most about therapy has been its outsider's perspective, has been its demand that I move beyond my own (limited, limiting) responses. I'm not interested in reassurance that I'm okay, that it's okay to feel like this -- I'm interested in being better than okay. There are people in the group who have been there for three years, and I find that thought terrifying. In three years -- hell, in less than three years -- I want to have come to a point where I am accountable to myself rather than someone else, where I am capable of caring for myself sufficiently independently that I don't need the constant support and crutch of therapy, whether individual or group, to function. I don't think this is an unreasonable goal. And I don't see how group is going to be any more effective or efficient in getting me there than focused individualized work. I don't think it will be harmful, certainly, I don't doubt it would be helpful in some fashion, but seriously. An hour-and-a-half with no resolution sets my teeth on edge.

(It doesn't help that I'm really sick of introducing myself and my neuroses: "Hi, I'm Elizabeth, and this is my dysthymia. My father issues are in the chair to my left." I'd like to stop being the woman whose life is dominated by her past and the people in it. I'd like to stop seeing myself through the colored lens of who did what to whom and how it felt. Possibly this is why I want to change my name; I don't want to be defined by Steven, and I don't want his name to mark me, delineate me. I don't like introducing myself, period, these days, because the name is not mine, not right in my mouth, not who I think of when I think I.)

I spent a good portion of today poking the University of Sussex's webpage...for international students. Feeling sicker and sicker, because I am -- the thought of going through Godolphin again makes me want to curl up in a ball, cry, and throw up. I won't survive that again. But at the same time, I can't bear the thought of letting fear control me, of not taking risks because oh noes! they might hurt! I don't know what to do, and I possibly do not deal with uncertainty. I just keep thinking, it could be awesome this time, and Brighton is awesome, you would be near berne, maybe you could actually do the thing you've been teasing each other with for ages, and also, I know what hell I could be walking into this time. And then I want to hit myself over the head with something heavy because seriously, what the hell?

Reposted from LJ, 20 March 2009