So today I was wandering along and happened to see one of
my exs (exes? An ex anyway). Beloved, rightly, commented that I was looking
waaay hotter than him which is, of course, what all right thinking people hope
to be the case when spying an unpleasant ex and yet I didn’t smile as it
deserved,
For I was having one of my Bad Moments.
Which is the frustrating. Because a part of me (ok, most
of me) is still really not happy with not being over, well, everything. C’mon
I’ve been in therapy for a while now, I’m taking the pills regularly (barring
the odd hiccough), where’s the sanity? I want my miracle cure, damn it!
In fact, I’ll settle (at the moment) for being over
anything – see, I don’t ask much brain, but can you at least resolve a few
issues? Isn’t this what therapy is for? What the hell is the point if these
nasty pills (and their nasty side effects) and dragging all (ok, some, not
quite up to all) of the nasty shit out for therapist blokey to poke through if
it’s not going to FIX anything?
Ok, ok, yes, when I first went to the guy I was in the
Spiral of Doomness and I have stopped getting actively worse which, yay,
progress and all that. And no, I’m not as bad as I was at all, everything is
much more MANAGED now; there’s not nearly so many Bad Moments and the Bad
Moments aren’t as Bad and I can, pretty much, keep things on an even keel. I am
no longer drowning. I’m afloat. Soaking wet and on rough seas, but afloat.
But when do I reach dry land (to overextend this maritime
metaphor beyond all reason)? When does it all stop, the Bad Moments, all the
ickiness, the pills, the therapy, the whole caboodle. When do I push the magic “I’m
currrrrrrrred button”? Which I should probably ask therapy blokey. But I can’t –
I’m not a fool (much), I know the answer to that could be “well, it’s never
going to be cured, it’s about management.” Which I don’t want to hear, I think
part of the way I keep putting up with it all is an unspoken understanding of
temporariness. I’m wary of my own reaction if I get confirmation; so either I
don’t ask the question or I do ask it and start chanting “nah nah nah I can’t
hear you” with my hands over my ears if he says something I don’t like. Which
is very undignified and a bad habit for therapy, methinks.
But… I need some more progress… which, of course, I’ll
probably dismiss once it happens and demand more because that’s me, but still.
This is feeling like a holding pattern and I don’t want to hold here.
Though, tbh, and coming back round on the “I should be
fair” train because if I don’t, I’ll end up talking myself out of therapy and
the pills (again *cough*) and Beloved will have to drag me there by my hair
which is also very undignified. Also, split ends. So, to be fair, I haven’t
discussed my bad exes much with therapy blokey, because when I first did, I
also said that, basically, at the time I had “victim” written across my
forehead in block capitals because I’d internalised so much self-hatred and
homophobia that I’d endure just about anything and smile about it just for the
sake of any shred of affection or potential acceptance. And therapy bloke
instantly gave me a very wonderful lecture on not accepting blame, that it wasn’t
my fault yadda yadda, yeah very good – but too simplistic. There’s a difference
between “blaming the victim” and accepting that being previously homophobically
victimised set me up to be a victim again. Of course, that may be because the
first words I ever said to him were “You blame any of my problems on being gay
and I walk.”
And that sounds awfully like putting road blocks in my
own path. Ugh, thank you Reason-Brain, for ruining my perfectly good pout.
Y’know, there’s way too much being fair here. I’m going
to pout and sulk and meanly blame people for stuff I’m not letting them cure while
drinking all the pear cider in my office mini fridge (because when Sparky is
emptying the bottles, he’s not going down stairs to do it). Actually since there’s
36 bottles, I probably shouldn’t do that.
Probably.
(Actually definitely, since Beloved has made a gentle "ah booze as a coping mechanism I see," joke. Which is ANNOYING because if he'd criticised or nagged, I could have ignored him and drunk defiantly but nooooooooo he has to gently poke at the wisdom of it instead. Bah.)
