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Saturday, 20 August 2011

Another argument with therapy blokey

I tell myself that my snapping at therapy blokey and having a tantrum is a good thing because it's another boundary down and some more ground covered and it's usually stuff that needs to be said. Right? It breaks down my normal stand-offish unwilling to open up thing and is really a breakthrough.

And yes I can positive spin anything.

Yeah, I'm not sure I believe it either, but I tell myself it and maybe one day I'll convince myself. Still, after argument it's probably not best to go home and empty a bottle. This is not the best of coping strategies, no no it is not. Still, no hang over – I am immune to hangover so I am presuming this means I am justified (hush, I know it doesn't make sense).

But I am sorely tired of feeling like my past decisions, actions and inactions are being judged and second guessed. I am sorely tired of feeling blamed for the various badnesses that happened, or blamed for not 'fixing' them and I'm, frankly, sorely tired of his pig-ignorance of the realities not just of the time but that are still very much the case today.

Could I have spoken to teachers as a child? Section 28, have you heard of it?
Could I have spoken to my parents? I can't speak to them about it NOW, how could I have then?!
Could I have spoken to anyone? The closet prevents that. And no, there wasn't anyone I trusted – not one person.
Could I have gone to the police? Page me when the police start giving a damn. And don't tell me they do, I've been there, seen that and see it every day.
Could I have gone to a shelter or similar charity? Sure – give me the phone number for one in the area... got one? Nooo...? Oh, why would that be, do you think?
Could I have sought therapy earlier? Uh-huh, because this is working out so wonderfully, right? And there is no history of badness between men like me and the shrinks, right?


I am happy for you. No really. I'm happy that you've had a life that lets you believe that the world is this big fluffy, supportive happy fun place. It must be wonderful, be grateful. But it's a lie. And I'm tired of feeling like you're telling me I screwed up because I don't live and never have lived in your happy-dappy-super-fun-fluffy land.

I don't know whether your plan could work if better executed. I don't know whether you could convince me that the world isn't all that bad and there resources out there and my habit of dealing with stuff alone is both unnecessary and unhealthy. Hey, it's probably a good idea. But all I'm getting from this is a whole amount of ignorant cluelessness that a) tells me I really should speed up looking for an actual gay therapist and b) undermines my confidence in you, which I don't need because that makes me doubt the life-saving pills. You need to get that what I did (and didn't do) isn't the result of bad brain paranoia, another symptom to be treated, it's the result of realistic concerns and knowledge and experience.



So today, there's another (more expensive) bottle open. And there's a BBQ which means I don't have to cook (well, technically. Why is it the actual application of meat to grill is always the least involved part of a BBQ?). And I am snarking the BBQ, reading my Kindle and posting on Beloved's tablet (shhhh! He hasn't noticed what I'm doing yet! Touching the tablet is VERBOTEN! Oops... nearly spilled wine on it. Wine and Ipads? Good combination? Or not? Better the Ipad than my Kindle). I've also turned my mobile phone off, again. Ooops, I Do Not Know What Happened It Must Have Been Broken. And yes I can say that with a straight face.


Ohhh I wonder if In have any chocolates left? And I wonder if I express my deep sadness at their lack then the chocolate gods will restock them? It's worth as try!