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Mar. 20th, 2009 01:51 pmI am discontented and itchy under the skin; therapy today was not good. This is not to say it wasn't useful, but it wasn't good. Last week was good, it was satisfying, it felt like something had opened up and I could keep working on the topics we talked about — mostly what my priorities in therapy have become, because they've shifted since I began this work, how to get out of therapy, how to become responsible for myself without the need for weekly sessions — this time I couldn't talk, couldn't think of anything to say or anything I needed to talk around.
It was unbelievably disconcerting not to be able to see Dr. L's face. (My glasses are broken.) Disconcerting and discomfiting; I am bad at reading expressions and she's trained not to betray her thoughts with her face, but the loss of any cues about what was going on in her head was kinda awful.
Probably didn't help that I didn't like what she said to me. It took a lot of work to become okay with the idea of having a chronic illness, to accept that my brain sometimes betrays me, that I am not actually in control of how I feel and how I react, and I feel like she's taking that away from me. Like I have been self-pitying to try to remake myself and understand and be okay with this revised self as someone who carries damage with her.
Self-pity frightens me. It is something that poisoned my father, something I could so easily be overwhelmed by, something I have contempt for in others, something I thought I was fighting against.
Maybe I am reading more into what she said than I should, but just the fact that I am reacting so strongly to something implied suggests something. Somewhere in here is a truth, maybe not one I want, but something true. And knowledge is always better than ignorance. I believe this, I do. Now I just have to grit my teeth and go after that knowledge, no matter how much it hurts and how afraid of it I may be.
It was unbelievably disconcerting not to be able to see Dr. L's face. (My glasses are broken.) Disconcerting and discomfiting; I am bad at reading expressions and she's trained not to betray her thoughts with her face, but the loss of any cues about what was going on in her head was kinda awful.
Probably didn't help that I didn't like what she said to me. It took a lot of work to become okay with the idea of having a chronic illness, to accept that my brain sometimes betrays me, that I am not actually in control of how I feel and how I react, and I feel like she's taking that away from me. Like I have been self-pitying to try to remake myself and understand and be okay with this revised self as someone who carries damage with her.
Self-pity frightens me. It is something that poisoned my father, something I could so easily be overwhelmed by, something I have contempt for in others, something I thought I was fighting against.
Maybe I am reading more into what she said than I should, but just the fact that I am reacting so strongly to something implied suggests something. Somewhere in here is a truth, maybe not one I want, but something true. And knowledge is always better than ignorance. I believe this, I do. Now I just have to grit my teeth and go after that knowledge, no matter how much it hurts and how afraid of it I may be.
