I still feel awful about making posts here, but I am going to continue making this effort for no other reason than I need to make an effort.
I’m already feeling nervous. I see my therapist tomorrow; I see him every Tuesday.
And… Thursday.
It’s a little old-school, twice-a-week. I’m not sure if it’s a testament to just how fucked up I am… or maybe how old R really is. Or something else entirely. Maybe I should be optimistic, like I can have hope that I will feel better since my therapist must think it’s possible if he’s investing that kind of time with me. Or… maybe it’s more sinister, like I’m a frustrating science project for him…
But, tomorrow is Tuesday and I’m feeling nervous.
I have so much that I want to tell him, things I think would be helpful for me to talk about or have some meaning — but I am terrified to say things aloud and watch his reaction. Like, I’ve had a pretty big disappointment at work recently (my boss told me that I didn’t have the “personality” to succeed since I’m not “perky” enough), and even though I love what I do, and I swear I’m good at it, I feel dejected and hopeless, going through the motions. A few weeks ago I read someone’s memoir that left me in crying fits and panic attacks. My family is crazy. I hate sex. I’m obsessed with death. I love him. I despise every inch of myself. And as long as he’s broached the dream thing (let me reaffirm my disgust), maybe I could just tell him about that reoccurring dream about the big man who wants to rape this kid that I’m with, how I try to keep the door shut, but he always gets in and wants me to help hold him down… and how I just had it again the night before last. Maybe I should say something about that.
So, I plan what I’m going to tell him. I tell myself that I am going to be brave. I consider sending an email, like “Hey, could you ask me about this book I read when I see you today?”
But, I don’t. And I end up barely talking at all, or just talking about random things. The Republican primaries or the weather. Music from the 1980s. Who cares. Maybe we’ll talk about how hard it is for me to talk, but I don’t get any insight from it.
I watch the clock.
Before the session ends, without fail, he asks me if there is something else that I needed to talk about.
“No.”
Then I feel like a coward and a failure.
And maybe that’s what I am the most nervous about. Not the talking to him… the not talking to him.