(no subject)

Therapy two weeks ago sucked. Therapy last session sucked, in related although different ways. I think I got spooked, when Dr. L raised her voice and scolded me and called me on my behavior — I'm fine with her pointing when I'm being an asshat and full of shit, lord knows she's done that before, but that session was different and I freaked. So now I have to go back in and relax, figure out a way to remember that I trust Dr. L, that that session was an aberration, that she's human too and she was frustrated and maybe it was a mistake and maybe it won't happen again and this is all part of the process and I am not allowed to run away.

Because I was seriously considering canceling last week. I didn't and I'm glad I didn't, this is one of those things where it is not having been in the dark house, but having left it, that counts, and right now, this is the dark house, this is the part where I'm scared and hurt and alone and I want to cower and vanish like smoke into the stacks at the library, but that is not therapeutic and I am so sick of being broken and less-than-myself and repeating patterns that hurt me and hurt other people, and goddamn it, I will get better.

I am more than my fear and my programming and my habits. I will be more than that.

(no subject)

Group is...maybe not hell, that's an insult to hell, which has at least inspired great literature. It's Chinese water torture. I don't fucking know.

They don't speak my language. They don't think in feminist, they don't think in geek, they don't think in culture, they don't speak my language and I already trained one therapist reasonably well, and even that is hard enough lately, I want this fucking thing to be over and I want to do real work with real people where I have some kind of remote chance of succeeding.

Somebody should come over and do my dishes, because I have done laundry, and that makes me mighty.