First, the gym. Aaargh. Frustrated groans. My workout did spark off a few days of dissociation. It’s been painful and frustrating. First I feel energetic but kind of blank. Then I realize there’s a complete internal silence. Then I feel more and more blank and unreal – as if I’m made of glass. I hate this non-feeling state. Then I can’t sleep more than two hours at a time.
So I went Sunday, and now, Tuesday, I’m coming out of it. I napped, then I felt completely down, and scared, and such. And now I’m making my way out of that mess. Oh yeah, this is why I don’t exercise. In any case, I’ve got the training session booked for tomorrow, and it’s too late to cancel. So, likely it will pop me back into dissociation. But, I am sick of avoiding triggers. I have this teeny tiny life of avoidance, and I need to move out of it. So, I’m going. Just, I likely won’t be feeling well for the next few days.
In therapy last week we discussed a bunch of huge topics. Kind of like all my painful past, the highlights. With a tiny bit of parts, mixed in for spice.
I talked a lot about my son, as I’d emailed Ron during the week about him and my ex, and so he brought that up. My son has health concerns, and so isn’t doing well, neither working or going to school. He’s living with my parents. I feel bad about it, and wish I could help. But the main conflict is with my ex. He phones me, and wants to vent about all he thinks about our son. Well – what can I do? I don’t want to hear it. Then he hings that I should be visiting him more than I do, getting him out of the house.
With my son, it’s unclear what’s wrong. He feels it’s physical – he thinks he has environmental allergies. He’s been for all kinds of tests, but nothing was found to be wrong. The rest of us think it’s largely psychological. My personal opinion is it’s anxiety, because anxiety can manifest as physical symptoms. Whatever. My son gets offended by my suggestions he see a therapist, as to him, psychological suffering is shameful, and he insists his problems are ‘real’ – physical.
The good thing is that we are having real conversations, when I take him out to lunch. We never had that before. He was very angry with me from the time he was a young teenager, and we didn’t have any kind of meaningful interaction for years. He took my ex’s side and stuck to him. So now, we are talking, sometimes about shows and movies, but also about the past, and about plans he might have for the future.
Anyway, there’s nothing much my therapist can do, so it seems like a bit of a waste to spend my whole session talking about him. And Ron seems to stay stuck in the badness of my son’s situation, which yes, is not good, but misses the part where I feel we are now having a better relationship. I guess I don’t stress that part. Because really, I believe it’s been the therapy that’s allowing me to have this better conversation now. No one in my family ever talked about the past, so it’s a new thing for me, to say, hey, what happened then, what did you think about it? The shared past is an obvious thing to talk about, to try and make sense of – but it’s not something I was ever used to doing. I am grateful that I learned.
Talking about my son led me to talking about my marriage. It was so awful. Talking about it with Ron brings up the pain of it again. But I’ve never really talked about it before. My friends knew both of us, and talking to them seemed like dumping on my ex, so I didn’t. Much. In that life, I felt so trapped. I was scared of my ex’s rages. I had no way of making money – I’d never worked at anything other than minimum wage jobs. I had a baby to provide for. And my ex ran the show to a remarkable degree. I had little say in anything that we did.
It’s hard to talk about. And I remember how young I was – late twenties – how lost, but also, how I still had hope for a good life, for love, and how that felt when this was shattered, and I lost hope.
It’s as if I’ve surfaced now, in my fifties, with an aging body, but now able to fend for myself, and keep myself safe. Starting to realize what it’s like to relate to people in a real way. And with a lot of my life gone to waste.