Daily Archive for August 18th, 2009

Therapy Thoughts and Fears

Published on August 18, 2009 in Borderline Personality Disorder, For the Record, Letters Home, Medical, Mental Health, Relationships and Therapy. 5 Comments

Dr. D,

I fear I’ll walk into therapy, take what feels like forever to sit down and you’ll roll your eyes and sigh, “Here we go again.”

I worry you’ll think I’m harping on being in pain. I worry you’ll tire of hearing it because there’s nothing you can do or say to make it stop. At least with emotional issues you can offer clinical skills and hopefully down the line we’ll be able to make use of them. But I fear when I tell you I hurt so much I can’t think that you’ll sigh with impatience and say I’m maybe causing this myself. I fear you’ll tell me I’m avoiding. I fear you’ll tell me that Lupus and Fibro are my body’s way of telling me I’m avoiding my issues.  I worry you buy into, even in a small way, the idea that these two illnesses prove I’ve internalized my mother. When you said there are some school of thoughts along those lines I hoped beyond hope didn’t go to that school. If you didn’t then why would you bring that up? Did you bring it up to let me know you didn’t buy into it and you hoped I didn’t either? I’m confused. I’m worried and scared you’ll think this is all psychosomatic and not as bad as I say it is.

Continue reading ‘Therapy Thoughts and Fears’

Sensitive

Published on August 18, 2009 in Depression, Medical, Mental Health and Poetry. 0 Comments

When it goes on and on like this……

They’re going to tire of hearing me say this. Lets talk about something else. Say something encouraging. Mention something minor, something people feel they can act on and fix. ….. I’ve come up empty, so lets go back to the same old complaint.

I’m sensitive. I’m dissociative, delayed in my responses and slow in thought. I’m energized for a moment then depleted of strength by the same moment. I’m unsteady and ashamed of it, unorganized, unmotivated, emotionally fatigued. I reject. I accept. I mourn, plead, then settle on apathy. I catastrophize, rant and rave, refuse to speak and refuse to open my eyes. I see sunshine the same as darkness, gray the same as gold. Sweet tastes salty. Cool water offers no refreshment. The air is heavy, heavier than my eyes.  I feel stunted and forced to again move forward and drag my feet through hope turned to ash.

Acceptance, rejection, can and can’t. I swear I won’t be broken by this. I promise myself, recount what I’ve survived.  I tell myself just a few weeks more and this will pass like always. The realization, the truthfulness of that statement brings tears to my eyes. We’re going to do this again. I don’t want to do this again.

Assurance and proof of strength, long suffering, unbreakable will falls hollow, as if on deaf ears. I’m not the same person.  No, I’m a fraction of that soldier and tired of the service.

Joan of Arc

Tuesday, August 18th, 2009 @ 3:17am EST

*** comments are off  ***