Phew, feeling quit a bit better than I was yesterday, and no longer as angry.
Today at work was a very very tough day. I was still furious at Ron, still switching between dissociation and somatic memories, with black thoughts. Very difficult to concentrate on a boring, long and complex document. I spent about half my day staring into space I’d say. At least. I must have been giving off just a bizarre vibe. Right at the end of the workday I remembered I’d used xanax before, and it stilled the suicidal thoughts, so I broke one in half and knocked it back.
It seemed to kick in about half way home during my commute. I started being able to follow my novel, and started to relax a tiny bit. Then at home I felt the blackness lift, and started enjoying the sunlight pouring in the windows. I felt tired from all that emotion, but back in the land of ‘normal’. That’s a great place to be when you struggle mightily to get there.
The pill has long ago worn off, but I’m still OK. I went for a walk, had a bit of something to eat. I feel like trauma moved through me and has left the building, leaving me shaky and tired but still here.
I think this situation with Ron is difficult because I traumatically attach. Somehow everything he does is too important to me. And I can’t talk to him normally, because of this strange attachment.
I actually think he has talent as a therapist, I really do. Like I said before, he often automatically does the right thing even when he doesn’t know what’s going on. It’s just that he also misses the boat half the time, when he goes off on this analyzing kick which I find completely useless.
It is very easy to be angry with a therapist. They are right there when feelings from the past hit, and when I feel that stuff, I become absolutely furious. He is very handy to hate.
Last session, a big part of what we worked on was trust. Well, that’s key for me. I felt so untrusting of Ron and others last week, I developed major stomach problems. So when we talked about my ex-boyfriend, Ron pointed out that I may have been expecting someone leading a group to be caring and ‘boundaried’, not out to gain things for themselves. And it hit home to me that I was never sure I deserved that, and how frightening that is, not to deserve safety.
And then we talked a bit about what trusting him would look like, and though I didn’t really know, beyond that I would feel safe, it did make me think that yes, Ron was in a caretaking role, and he wouldn’t cross any boundaries, and he didn’t want anything from me, and I did feel safer. That’s a good feeling, to feel cared for in a kind and non-needy or demanding kind of way. I didn’t actually realize that safety was such a big issue for me. So that was all really good, and really addressing what worried me.
Then somehow or other things became problematic and I ended up dissociated. It would be nice if Ron could recognize when this is happening, and he totally doesn’t. If I could notice it at the time it first happens, that would also be good. Dissociation is a method I use to cope with social or work situations, to keep things going even if I get scared or some bad feelings or memories come up. It’s designed as a camouflage, so it makes sense that it is not totally obvious.
I know we were discussing parts of selves, and then Ron got really theoretical….and we were discussing how I’m suddenly enjoying cleaning, but can’t edit anything, which is bizarre behavior for me. And then he interpreted that in some annoying way, and I didn’t feel comfortable explaining how I understood this. I remember having the strong feeling of needing to leave his office…and I did leave a little early. And then at home I realized I was dissociated and started also in with the somatic memories that are so painful for me. They hurt.
Ron is trying to establish trust, which makes sense. Last session I had talked about suicidal thoughts, which no doubt he finds disturbing. So he figures trusting him is important.
The other stuff didn’t work so well.
I’m just no longer angry. I can see he’s trying, and he seems to care. He doesn’t understand, but it’s OK. I don’t either.