Thursday, December 31, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Post-Louise Euphoria
I don't write in this blog nearly enough. For the last few months it seems like all the good ideas and words and phrases that might be useful for a blog entry have been sucked into the giant black hole in my bedroom floor. Today, obviously is different. I've just got back from my second session with my psychologist, Louise. Since I've been seeing her, the black hole in my floor has grown smaller, at least for temporary chunks of time.
I've been seeing counselors on and off since I was 11, but none of them ever helped that much. Jenny, from my first year at high school, and last year when I returned to that school, came close, but I was reluctant to open up to her. I didn't really have the ability to express my thoughts the way I do now. With Louise, however, this is different.
For the first time in my life I feel listened to. That's the thing I love the most about her: she doesn't just hear, and scribble notes, she listens, and thinks and processes. And her office makes me feel safe. Both times I've been to see her, I ran out of tissues, which she immediately replaced, and I still felt safe after she was gone. I also love that she said she'd take me home herself if it wasn't unethical, and that Molly was the coolest name for a cat, ever.
We talked about a lot of stuff (when I say "talked" I mean, "actual useful, intelligent dialogue that helped.") and during this and afterward I felt...I don't even know a word for how I feel. Safe? (seems to be a key word here) Optimistic? Hopeful, even?
I remember after leaving her office the first time, on my way home I was struck by the thought that with this woman's help, I could become a whole person. Silly way to phrase it, I know, but that's how it struck me. A whole person, who acknowledges and accepts all her life experiences, good and bad, and takes responsibility for the emotions attached to them, and is capable of the things that other whole people are. I could have a normal life, without gaping chasms opening up in walls and floors, without fear and anxiety 24/7, with friends I care about and a future to look forward to. To be a whole person, not just a personality.
One thing we talked about, which I have been meaning to mention somehow, but haven't, is my fear of aging. (Friend Josh pointed out to me that "gerascophobia" is the term for fear of aging. Thank you, Friend Josh) It was my birthday 3 weeks ago, and I spent the entire week leading up to it in a state of blind, frantic panic mixed up with terror. By the day before my birthday, I was literally tearing my hair out. (The hair on my head, which I almost never pull out) trying to climb the window panes to escape the now enormous black hole. I decided, for the sake of my sanity, to go on a Time strike. Or, rather, age strike. To simple not acknowledge my age, at all Period. Just stay 16 until I was ready to move on. There are plenty of 30-something-year-olds who say they're 20-something, right? I still look the part, and I don't feel any older, so why not me?
(Louise was out of town all week during this time. Ironic, I know.)
When I mentioned this to Louise, I slipped in something along the lines of, "I know it's stupid and illogical," as I always do when I'm afraid people will say something mean. She pointed out that there were no drastic changes had occurred, no growth spurts or sudden wrinkling etc. Her message came across as, "Age is only a number, and you're only as old as you feel." I still feel 16, it's true, so what does it really matter. She also said it was perfectly alright, and not stupid at all, to wait until I felt 17 to declare my age, mostly to myself, and that I'm still the same person anyway.
She also said not to think about it. Oops.
After getting all my issues out in the open, we made actual, solid plans to make things better. Rellies to talk to, things like that. Discussion was followed by action (or at least the planning of action, with the intention of following through), not just a, "See if you still feel the same way tomorrow morning." We're getting shit done, plugging up the black holes sprinkled across memories and feelings. I still feel like my emotions are all squashed and rung out and gunky, like the crap you scrape out of the plug hole after washing up a load of dishes with pasta baked on, but I also feel like there is a scratch on the surface of what has been boxed up for so long, providing a little light for me.
I do feel hopeful. Life is not only fixable, but worth fixing.
Thank you, Louise.
I've been seeing counselors on and off since I was 11, but none of them ever helped that much. Jenny, from my first year at high school, and last year when I returned to that school, came close, but I was reluctant to open up to her. I didn't really have the ability to express my thoughts the way I do now. With Louise, however, this is different.
For the first time in my life I feel listened to. That's the thing I love the most about her: she doesn't just hear, and scribble notes, she listens, and thinks and processes. And her office makes me feel safe. Both times I've been to see her, I ran out of tissues, which she immediately replaced, and I still felt safe after she was gone. I also love that she said she'd take me home herself if it wasn't unethical, and that Molly was the coolest name for a cat, ever.
We talked about a lot of stuff (when I say "talked" I mean, "actual useful, intelligent dialogue that helped.") and during this and afterward I felt...I don't even know a word for how I feel. Safe? (seems to be a key word here) Optimistic? Hopeful, even?
I remember after leaving her office the first time, on my way home I was struck by the thought that with this woman's help, I could become a whole person. Silly way to phrase it, I know, but that's how it struck me. A whole person, who acknowledges and accepts all her life experiences, good and bad, and takes responsibility for the emotions attached to them, and is capable of the things that other whole people are. I could have a normal life, without gaping chasms opening up in walls and floors, without fear and anxiety 24/7, with friends I care about and a future to look forward to. To be a whole person, not just a personality.
One thing we talked about, which I have been meaning to mention somehow, but haven't, is my fear of aging. (Friend Josh pointed out to me that "gerascophobia" is the term for fear of aging. Thank you, Friend Josh) It was my birthday 3 weeks ago, and I spent the entire week leading up to it in a state of blind, frantic panic mixed up with terror. By the day before my birthday, I was literally tearing my hair out. (The hair on my head, which I almost never pull out) trying to climb the window panes to escape the now enormous black hole. I decided, for the sake of my sanity, to go on a Time strike. Or, rather, age strike. To simple not acknowledge my age, at all Period. Just stay 16 until I was ready to move on. There are plenty of 30-something-year-olds who say they're 20-something, right? I still look the part, and I don't feel any older, so why not me?
(Louise was out of town all week during this time. Ironic, I know.)
When I mentioned this to Louise, I slipped in something along the lines of, "I know it's stupid and illogical," as I always do when I'm afraid people will say something mean. She pointed out that there were no drastic changes had occurred, no growth spurts or sudden wrinkling etc. Her message came across as, "Age is only a number, and you're only as old as you feel." I still feel 16, it's true, so what does it really matter. She also said it was perfectly alright, and not stupid at all, to wait until I felt 17 to declare my age, mostly to myself, and that I'm still the same person anyway.
She also said not to think about it. Oops.
After getting all my issues out in the open, we made actual, solid plans to make things better. Rellies to talk to, things like that. Discussion was followed by action (or at least the planning of action, with the intention of following through), not just a, "See if you still feel the same way tomorrow morning." We're getting shit done, plugging up the black holes sprinkled across memories and feelings. I still feel like my emotions are all squashed and rung out and gunky, like the crap you scrape out of the plug hole after washing up a load of dishes with pasta baked on, but I also feel like there is a scratch on the surface of what has been boxed up for so long, providing a little light for me.
I do feel hopeful. Life is not only fixable, but worth fixing.
Thank you, Louise.
Friday, November 6, 2009
O Christmas Tree
So. Halloween is over. I didn't enjoy it as much as I thought I would. But whatever.
That means that my birthday and Christmas are coming up.
The other day, I went into another panic attack when my brother asked me if I was looking forward to our birthdays. (We 3 years apart, but our birthdays are in the same week,s o everyone always lumps us together like we're the same fucking person) I'm getting very sick of this living-in-my-head-unable-to-face-reality-and-the-insanely-fast-passage-of-time. I need to get some shit done, for my sanity.
The other night I realized that I am really not immune to that often-mentioned daddy complex, and that this is tied in with my fear of aging. Long story, but I realized I need to move on with my life. I still feel 13, but I hope that acting like a 16-year-old will make me grow up. Or something.
One good thing about this time of year is the Christmas tree. When I was little, my Nana and I would decorate her tree every year. We never had our own tree, so I kind of adopted hers. We haven't done that for years, not since we moved away. This is my grandparents second Christmas in their new house, and I feel like it's important to do this. I feel like I'm ready to move on and accept the new house after having their old one, my real home brutally ripped out from under them.
I'm giving myself permission to do the whole Christmas thing this year. I no longer consider myself a Jehovah's Witness, and feel free to do as I please. And I really do love the holidays. I even talked to Mum about getting our own Christmas tree.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
I Finally Got it!
I figured it out!
You know that weird beer/cider add with the crows and the apples and stuff? I finally understand it! I've been thinking about it for about 2 weeks now, trying to figure out why it was so clever. I asked Mum, and she didn't get it either, but said it was something subversive about the bible and the battle between the sexes, so I was looking for that. Last night I was watching it, and I realised it wasn't about Adam and Eve at all! It was about people and crows! DUH!
I just realized how much this sounded like one of BB's blog posts. Hehe.
xx Remarkable
Friday, October 9, 2009
Fear Itself
"There is nothing to fear but fear itself."
I really hope this is true.
The plans I have been clinging to for dear life the last few years are starting to unravel due to my procrastination. I lost another 3 years. Sometimes I wonder what the hell I'm doing. I understand now that I took the wrong fork in the road, and now I'm teetering on the edge of a cliff, with the ground shaking beneath me, it threatening to crumble out from under me. Normally in such a situation I would take comfort in the fact that I could start again when I hit the bottom of the chasm, but I know there's no bottom. I will just keep falling. And falling. And falling. I know I can prevent this from happening, I can save myself if I can bring myself to ask for help. I'm afraid of that too. The only person I've ever reached out to, who promised to help, flaked on me, not once, but twice. She knew I needed her help. I begged her to help, literally.
"I can't really help you, sweetheart, I don't really have the room for another person. Maybe next year."
A year later, we actually made plans. But nothing happened. Nada. This is what family is supposed to be for, isn't it? What's the point?
I'm not going to let it end this way. I will not end up one of those sad, soulless people on the street.
Is it possible to rewrite the past? Can I pretty please have a do-over?
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Following Rove
This is why I <3 Twitter. Following Rove McManus and his ridiculous thought pattern makes my day.
Rove1974 I learned this morning that a bee's penis is actually called an "endophallus". I look forward to the day that comes in handy.9:29 AM Oct 1st from Tweetie
Rove1974 ...So next time someone says "They beat us by a bee's dick" you can correct them and say "I think you mean endophallus."9:31 AM Oct 1st from Tweetie
Rove1974 For the record, my predictive text now recognizes the word "endophallus". My work here is done.9:38 AM Oct 1st from Tweetie If he didn't already have his own show, I would petition the Prime Minister to make it so.
XX Tabitha
Rove1974 I learned this morning that a bee's penis is actually called an "endophallus". I look forward to the day that comes in handy.9:29 AM Oct 1st from Tweetie
Rove1974 ...So next time someone says "They beat us by a bee's dick" you can correct them and say "I think you mean endophallus."9:31 AM Oct 1st from Tweetie
Rove1974 For the record, my predictive text now recognizes the word "endophallus". My work here is done.9:38 AM Oct 1st from Tweetie If he didn't already have his own show, I would petition the Prime Minister to make it so.
XX Tabitha
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Brain Spew #1, Notebooks and the Ultimate Cat Fighting League
Well, it's been donkey's years since I've written anything of note, so I guess I should blog something tonight.
Things are generally okay.
I've finished my journal with the Kiniko Craft picture, it was only 192 pages! I have another, much thicker book with koi fish on the front, and my first entry was much easier than the last time I started a new book. I suppose it was because I waited almost a month to write in the Kinko book. Anyway, I have a whole box full of beautiful journals that I've had for ages and never written in because I felt whatever I could write in them would be unworthy of their pages or something. That was something I had to get rid of. There are plenty more notebooks in the world, and many are just as beautiful, so, I'm working my way through this box of journals. Except the travel journals. I'll save those for traveling. I had a visit from Clever Merlin, directly preceding the commencement of the new journal, which was just plain awesome. There were brownies and walking, and we were held hostage by a sociopathic six-year-old. Tuns of fun!
I've noticed that my cat has become rather vicious since we moved. At our old house, whenever she got into fights with other cats she would always run away, or else end up trapped in our courtyard with the enemy cat between her and the front door. But here in Coomera, on three separate occasions have I watched her attack other cats. No joke. I'm beginning to wonder if she feels tougher compared to these posh suburban pussies. They're obviously no where near as dangerous as the Nerang ghetto cats. I mean, my cat is a cream puff. She even looks like one! She loves nothing more than a cuddle and some warm chicken, she's no Ultimate Fighter! It's amazing that she's suddenly a warrior cat. anyway, it's later than it should be, so I'm off to bed.
G'night!
XX Tabitha
Things are generally okay.
I've finished my journal with the Kiniko Craft picture, it was only 192 pages! I have another, much thicker book with koi fish on the front, and my first entry was much easier than the last time I started a new book. I suppose it was because I waited almost a month to write in the Kinko book. Anyway, I have a whole box full of beautiful journals that I've had for ages and never written in because I felt whatever I could write in them would be unworthy of their pages or something. That was something I had to get rid of. There are plenty more notebooks in the world, and many are just as beautiful, so, I'm working my way through this box of journals. Except the travel journals. I'll save those for traveling. I had a visit from Clever Merlin, directly preceding the commencement of the new journal, which was just plain awesome. There were brownies and walking, and we were held hostage by a sociopathic six-year-old. Tuns of fun!
I've noticed that my cat has become rather vicious since we moved. At our old house, whenever she got into fights with other cats she would always run away, or else end up trapped in our courtyard with the enemy cat between her and the front door. But here in Coomera, on three separate occasions have I watched her attack other cats. No joke. I'm beginning to wonder if she feels tougher compared to these posh suburban pussies. They're obviously no where near as dangerous as the Nerang ghetto cats. I mean, my cat is a cream puff. She even looks like one! She loves nothing more than a cuddle and some warm chicken, she's no Ultimate Fighter! It's amazing that she's suddenly a warrior cat. anyway, it's later than it should be, so I'm off to bed.
G'night!
XX Tabitha
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)