Validation and Redemption

Today was much better than last week. The Shrink was even later this week - poor dude! He thought I was his first appointment, got there a little early to get some paperwork done and... yeah - he did have one before me. Oops. LOL However, he didn't seem ruffled or anything. We had an interesting little side-conversation about being Gods of our own little worlds, free will, destiny and ordering things as we wish.

Then we talked about my uncle's death and my lack of reaction. After hearing me out and asking a few questions, he basically reassured me that it's okay to feel however I feel and that I am having nothing but a normal reaction to the situation. We weren't close any more so it makes sense that I wasn't broken up about it. Since I don't seem to be doing the denial thing about his death, or avoiding it through dissociation or shutting off all of my feelings, he said there is nothing abnormal about how I feel. That was reassuring. I didn't really bring up the uncomfortable feelings I had been feeling around my uncle for the past several years. Honestly, I don't know why I didn't. Mostly because I couldn't figure out how to explain it, let alone provide an explanation for the feelings.

Once the topic had wound down, after he assured me I wasn't a freak for not feeling much about the death, we moved on to the next thing. I had been wondering why exactly it is that I get so scared of the possibility of me having good traits, strengths. I know they are there, but I don't want to look at them, think about them, talk about them or openly admit them. I treat my strengths like most people treat their flaws. (This is the Shadow concept Jungwent on about.) I asked him why, wanted him to explain it to me. He opened his mouth like he was going to tell me, then closed it and gave me his probing, "I'm trying to figure you out" look. Then he asked me if I really had no idea. grrr I explained that the only thing I can really come up with is how, when I was growing up, I would think I was doing something right (like being funny or smart or nice or whatever) only to find out quite unexpectedly that I wasn't doing it right at all.

At that point we digressed slightly and talked about whether I am a mostly good person with some flaws or a mostly flawed person with some good. (I think the latter, he the former.) We talked about how I am actually doing a heck of a lot better in that I will now admit that I do have some good in me whereas before I refused to see that and put all the responsibility for it onto other people. He tried again to convince me that I am good by having me tell him why I think I'm not. But he always dismisses me when I try to explain and we both end up frustrated. He always ends that conversation with the same assertion: I will never be able to convince him that I am not a good person. Flattering, I guess, but frustrating. He doesn't see the darkness that stains my soul or the evil thoughts that fill my head.

We steered the talk back to why I feel this way when "normal" people don't, why I am so terrified to look at my strengths. He was flipping through my chart, looking for something unspecified. He came to a sketch I did of the layout of the house I lived in when I was really young. I had drawn it while I was explaining to him that my parents' room was at the far end of the hallway from mine with my Uncle (who he still insists on referring to as Frog-Man. ggggrrrrr) in between us. And he said, "I think it all comes back around to this."

My Uncle twisted the truth into something horrifying. He made sure I believed that I am evil and that nothing will change that. This was reinforced by my mother whose unpredictable temper often caught me off-guard when I thought I was doing something good. It was further reinforced in school as I was oblivious to social norms and constantly teased and ostracized for violating standards I didn't know about. Even now there is a degree of uncertainty in my interactions with others as to how it will be received. Will it be good enough? Done correctly? Should it have been done at all? Sooner? Later? I have convinced myself, because that's what I was led to believe from the start, that I am not now (never have been and never will be) good enough. We closed with him going back to reinforcing that I've come a long way in believing better of myself and that he truly believes I am good.

As I was leaving, he followed me (as usual) and just before I stepped out the door he stopped me, gave me his "I'm sincere and this is important to me" look and asked me if I would try, this week, to go back to keeping track of the things I do right. I agreed and left. That one question had quite an effect though. Last week I felt like he was humoring me when I told him about doing that. I was all excited and proud of myself and it felt to me like he listened to what I said and moved on and that it wasn't any big deal, let alone an accomplishment that was quite difficult and counter-intuitive for me. But the look he gave me and the tone in his voice and the timing of the question kind of redeemed the idea in my mind. It must have been a valid thing to do and, as I had suspected but not been comfortable believing, he was just having a bad day last week.

All in all, a good week. Left me with a lot of things to think about (and probably many to blog about as well. I already have several topics I want to think through on "paper".)

Self-Disclosure (aka Jumping on the Band Wagon)

So one of my favorite blogs on my blog roll, Vicarious Therapy, was talking about disclosure. She referenced Dr. Shock's post on the same topic. I read them both and found myself thinking about the topic in some depth.

It's ironic. For as much as I fear people and dealing with them under most circumstances, I want to know all about them. I want to know why they act the way they act, what they think about and why. I suppose I could be called a gossip in that I love to listen about anything and everything to do with other people's lives, especially the behind-the-scenes stuff. Though unlike most gossips, I don't like to spread what I hear and certainly have no malicious intent. I just want to know. Everything. I'm sure that colors my perspective on this subject...

When it comes to disclosure, more is better to my mind. I want to know it. But I recognize times when it is less than helpful. I also recognize when it is practically vital. But it can't be an easy call to make for the practitioner.

Aqua talked about the information her pdoc shared with her about his health. His health directly impacts her therapy process in both an objective (cancelled appointments and necessary contingency plans) and a subjective (obviously not feeling well, potential for feelings of abandonment and betrayal) way. So it would have been a poor judgment call to withhold that information.

I had a similar (on a MUCH smaller scale) situation with my psychiatrist. He cancelled an appointment on me at probably the single most inopportune time possible. I was in an extremely fragile state of mind, under tremendous stress and slightly psychotic. When I got the cancellation message, I could only assume it was for one of a couple of worst-case scenarios: he was golfing with his buddies, he hates me so much he didn't feel like dealing with me, or he was dying in a hospital somewhere. (Did I mention that I get a melodramatic when I'm psychotic - more so than usual?) I was fit to be tied. I was trying to figure out where I could get another psychiatrist that could monitor my VNS implant and that my insurance would accept. But when I called his office back, the receptionist told me that he had gone in for an emergency root canal. (OUCH!! Been there, done that - cancel everything! Those suck.) And that smoothed over my worries about why he had cancelled. If no explanation had been forthcoming, I likely would have continued to assume the worst to the point that I accepted it as fact. (I do that when I get psychotic - things I imagine become, in my mind, things that actually happened.) And I would have bailed. Score one for self-disclosure!

On the other hand...

The Shrink and I got into a discussion once about The Flying Spaghetti Monster and it came out in the discussion that he holds some very different religious beliefs than I do. Now he wasn't pushy or judgmental or preachy or disrespectful in any way. And it was practically an off-the-clock discussion - you know, the kind that occur as you are walking out the door at the end of the appointment and that contain no therapeutic value at all. But because of my past history of clashes with people from other religions condemning me for my beliefs, his views made an impression on me. The net result is that I have not brought up any of the confusion I have about my spirituality or the longing I have for the church I grew up in. I haven't deliberately withheld information or gone into my Artful Dodger routine to keep from talking about it, but I have purposely not steered the conversation that direction to address those concerns, because I know his religion is so very different from mine. And this is despite the fact that I am proof positive that he would not judge me or condemn me or lecture me or pressure me or anything other than support me in such a conversation. It is just that the issue of spirituality is a sore spot for me and, in keeping with my zero-conflict tendencies, I haven't been comfortable talking about it now. Self-disclosure takes a hit - ooo, that one packed a punch, Ladies and Gentlemen!

Flipping back to the other side, I often get bits of self-disclosure from our family pediatrician. We have a very close working relationship with her as we have been with her from the very start for both of us. My oldest son, who is about to turn 13, was the very first newborn in her practice. She has seen us through ups and downs and sideways and diagonally-s from bipolar hospitalizations to broken arms to well-baby visits and sports physicals. We adore her and have generally followed the major events of her life... changing practices, new partners, marriage, moving, and two kids. So last month I had Kid-3 into her office to discuss (read: beg for help about) his encopresis. Things had gone poorly at the specialist and for a variety of reasons, we would not be able to return to him but things were getting worse with Kid-3. The Pediatrician (who is officially my idol!) listened and examined and discussed and planned, including me all the way. I felt much more comfortable and more in control. Then she mentions that her son takes the same medicine she is recommending for Kid-3 (Miralax, btw - it's a wonder drug!) for the exact same problem Kid-3 has! Relief flooded my mind. If even our wonderful pediatrician has this problem with her son, this is highly unlikely to be my fault for being a bad mommy. AND... her son is doing wonderfully on it.Wow! TG... Ladies and GentleHobbits, self-disclosure us rallying with a vengeance.

Back to self-disclosure from The Shrink... I get little pieces of information from him frequently. Nothing huge, just tidbits. His son is into acting, singing and writing, much like my daughter is (and in a limited way I am) so we swapped stories about supporting vs pushing and helping vs crushing. His youngest two kids fight in much the same way as my youngest two do. He read that Stephen King book and liked this part for this reason (which miraculously tied into the point he was trying to make at the time! LOL) All those little things he tells me strengthens my feeling of trust with him. It makes me feel like even successful people have little issues. And when he relates something he's done to something I've done, sometimes it's easier to be objective about it. Of course, The Shrink, when he chooses to share like that, is short and to the point and with few details - it's not all about him. Ding! Ding! Ding! Another point to self-disclosure!

On the other hand, my infinite curiosity, especially regarding people I care about, tends to leave me wanting more. I hoard the bits of information he has shared, using them to fill in my mental picture of him. I don't deal too well with one or even two dimensional people. No one is like that - everyone is complex and layered. Sometimes it's just a matter of discovering the layers underneath. The Shrink puts forth his best foot in nearly all of his stories, leaving me wondering where his faults lie. The day I overheard him talking with a colleague in the hallway (DUDE! It echoes! Keep your voice down! LOL) expressing some pretty strong self-doubt over something unidentified, was a gold star day in my book. The Shrink is human after all. (And the crowd goes wild!) The point is, when he gives an inch, I want a mile. I completely respect boundaries so I don't push it or pry for details or look for ways to get him talking about himself, but I do crave the knowledge. I would have to put this on the "cons" side of the board for self-disclosure, though barely.

All in all, from my point of view, I favor selective self-disclosure. I love hearing anything and everything my doctors want to share. I like working with people, not with Robot MDs. I don't want to take up other people's time though. And I don't want them to share anything too personal or that makes them feel awkward. And they better be careful about sharing belief systems because, with my zero-conflict people-pleasing tendencies, I will worry if mine don't match theirs.

This, of course, is just from my point of view and I neither think nor expect that this holds true for other patients. I say again, I don't envy doctors who must decide such things on the fly.

Shameful Ambivalence

My uncle is dying. He lives almost 4 hours away. We aren't close anymore. When I was little, he was the best part of family gatherings. He was fun and playful. He'd chase me around and tickle me. He had a pet name for me, very similar to one I'd rather not think about. But he made me giggle. He thought my antics were funny. There is one family story that people love to tell...

(I'm going to call my uncle "Jack" for the purposes of this story. That's not his name but I need a name to tell the story properly.)

I was about three years old and Uncle "Jack" had taken me to McDonald's. Upon returning from the bathroom, I shouted, loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear, "MONSTER JACK! I POOPED!! Apparently the restaurant found it amusing as most everyone laughed. Including my uncle who found the whole thing hysterical and has never let me live it down, but in a good way.

My memories of him are good. Tickling me, laughing at me, not hating me... None of my memories of him are bad. I know some stuff about him; he's not an angel, that's for sure. He's an alcoholic and a redneck. He's not the brightest bulb in the strand. He's a bit coarse and a bit crass. But all I remember is good.

So why am I not upset at the news of his impending death? A week, maybe a month... and he's in an unbearable amount of pain. I'm concerned and I feel bad for him and all his loved ones. But I feel no connection to his death. It's just a name, a fact.

In fact, whenever I try to attach an emotion to him, all I get is a vague uneasiness. Something feels uncomfortable and somehow wrong. It's like when you are playing an instrument and hit a flat note in a chord: not as harsh and painful as a sharp note but it just doesn't sound right. Whenever I think of Uncle "Jack" as he might be connected to me - I feel awkward.

It's been this way for years, this confusing agitation. So it isn't some kind of defense against feeling pain from his impending death. I just don't understand it. Where is this disquiet coming from? All my memories of him are good.

What's wrong with me??? Why am I not broken up or at least sad? Why do I feel so weird about him?

-------------------------------------------------------
***UPDATE***
Monday, August 11, 2008 9:26 AM
And he's gone. Just like that. Less than 12 hours after I found out he is dying from cancer, he is gone. Even now, there are no emotions attached. It just is.

The Me I'm Not

Inside of me is someone I'm not. She is very active, being especially fond of jogging, bicycle riding and rock climbing. She is cheerful and enthusiastic, curious and outgoing, energetic and optimistic. She is not depressed, nor is she manic. In fact, she doesn't really understand the whole depression thing. When she looks in the mirror, she can't figure out who the overweight, middle-aged, out of shape, depressed loser is that stares back at her.

How do I reconcile these vastly different desires? Is there a compromise? Even if I had the energy, how do I overcome the rest of the barriers, especially the physical ones?

I have a million and one excuses for not listening to that me that I'm not. And while I recognize that they are excuses, nonetheless I don't know how to overcome them.

My #1 excuse for not bike riding: I don't have a bike and I wouldn't be caught dead on Kid-2's bike. (Pretty good reason, there.)

My excuse for not rock climbing is pretty solid, too. No place, no money, no skill, no strength and bad knees.

Jogging is a bit more complicated. Yes, I have bad knees and jogging isn't exactly the best activity to do with bad knees. But that's not what fazes me. There are two main barriers (apart from the energy/motivation/depression stuff that applies to everything in my life *sigh*). The first is where? I don't want to jog in the neighborhood - not with this body! HUMILIATION!!

The other is time. Even if I found a place where I could jog without embarrassing myself beyond recovery, and I could afford to go there, when would I do it? Right now it's all kids all day every day. Once school starts, I'll have about six weeks of mornings free until Baby-Mommy gets rid of Baby-Mommy's-Boyfriend. At that point, I will have Baby from 7:30 in the morning until 8 at night Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday and sporadically on Saturdays. Come October 26, it's all me all the time for our household. So when, exactly, am I supposed to do this???

So, for the foreseeable future, the me that I'm not will have to keep looking out through the eyes of the me that I am and live her adventures in her imagination. She is none too pleased with it, but c'est la vie......

What Goes Up...

Must (and does) come down.

Last week after therapy, I felt so good, so empowered. I had a plan that I could stick to. Hopeful, optimistic, even excited - all these words described me. I held onto that feeling all day Wednesday, all day Thursday, all day Friday. I did okay Saturday and Sunday. Monday I slipped - a lot - and turned "the reins" over to someone else to handle it for me. That went well, no one the wiser, and I managed to come out of the evening feeling good still. Tuesday - yeah, well, I kept my chin up well enough for appearances sake but the buzz was gone.

Wednesday I went back to therapy. I brought The Shrink a present. Now, announcing to The Shrink that I have a present for him is a sure-fire way to make him instantly nervous. It's that whole "no gifts" dynamic - it sets most shrinks on edge because it's awkward and sensitive. They don't wanna hurt anyone's feelings but it's really a breech of ethics and all that. I know my Shrink. I know how to make him nervous and how to get him to relax again.

But his day hadn't started out too good. His first appointment came late AND ran over - then wouldn't leave. We were 25 minutes late getting started. As he walked in the room, he looked tired already and it wasn't even 9:30. Maybe I'm projecting or transference-ing or some other nice Freudian term, but my guess is that wasn't the first thing that went wrong that morning. But he took a couple breaths, came in and closed the door and seemed okay.

So I did my "I have a present for you." Sure enough, he tensed, looked slightly dodgy and pointedly didn't sit down. He froze. Instead of dangling him along, I explained. (The twitchy look in his eyes made me nervous.) I had burned a "Feel Better Mix" for Baby-Mommy and thought he'd like the songs too. If not the songs, at least the lyrics. These songs really hit the spot when things are so dark that there doesn't seem to be a way out. Again, predictably, he relaxed immediately. I bring him song lyrics all the time.

So we talked songs and genres for a little bit. (Did you know that "acid rock" is now called "death metal" and that it comes in Christian varieties? Weird...) Then I told him about my campaign to keep track of good things instead of bad things. I was excited. I was proud. And yes, I was approval-seeking. *sigh* But The Shrink was only mildly pleased. It was as if it wasn't any big deal. When I commented how well it worked, he said almost nothing. When I then commented that it was very difficult and rather exhausting, he told me that after 90 days of it, it wouldn't be. In under 5 minutes, he had changed the subject.

As if I didn't feel deflated enough, I made the mistake of being a little too honest in response to his standard probing. Self-harm? No. Urges? Intense. How intense? Used my list - but it worked. Lost time? Not too bad. How bad? Nothing unplanned.

And then it blew up in my face. And I should have known better. My Voices are my own. There are a grand total of 4 people in my life who know about them. Only one accepts them. And it isn't The Shrink. I guess I thought he would understand my co-ordinating with The SV to help me with situations I can't handle on my own. I was wrong. He wants all me all the time. He doesn't know what he's asking.

I left feeling defeated and beaten down. I know I shouldn't be seeking his approval. I don't need him to pat me on the head and give me a gold star in order to know I did good. I also know how he feels about The SV. Maybe he's right. Maybe he's not. Maybe he was just having a bad day and I took it wrong. I don't know.

Why did I tell him the truth?! No one understands how this works. Even I don't fully get it. But I know who I can trust and who I can't. I don't understand why I can't let those more capable handle situations that I can't. So long as it's controlled, why is that bad?

When I was much younger and I told people that I thought in Voices, they either thought I was crazy or blew me off. When I explained it that they are just how I think, in different Voices, they would back off. Instinctually I never told the psychiatrists. During my first major break, after Kid-4 was born, I did tell them. They couldn't decide if I was schizophrenic or psychotic. They opted for psychotic and drugged me into a blind stupor. For the first time in my memory, I didn't hear The SV.

It was AW-FUL!!

And it didn't stop them. I just didn't hear the warning signs. Time went on and things got worse. The bad guys started to win. I told a few people what was happening and by and large they didn't believe me. Hubby saw first hand. My Guardian Angel "saw" them. Baby-Mommy believes me based on what Hubby says, what I said and the circumstances of things that have happened. I don't think she's actually seen any of them, or realized what she saw at least. My mother I think already knew, though she never put a name to it.

Then The Shrink saw one too many things and Hubby told him a few others. And he confronted me and I admitted it and we talked briefly about The SV. He reacted very old school. (Though not so far back in old school as to accuse me of faking which was my biggest fear.) But he wants them gone.

I've been dodging him about it ever since, denying their existence, playing up the subtle points that make it sound like I don't like or want them, even as juvenile as changing the subject. Every so often I probe to see if he still wants to kill off The SV. Apparently, he does. Maybe he is right and I should have only one Voice in my head, should be present and conscious even of things that nearly destroy me, should exist in a much more 2-dimensional world than I currently live in. That is certainly popular opinion. No SV, just me - as if I am not one of them.

If even my own Shrink, whom I love and trust and rely on (probably more than I should) cannot accept me with them as an integral part of me, I certainly can't expect anyone else to. I am tempted to plead the adage that people fear that which they do not understand. But people fear evil too and with good reason. Maybe I am evil and just don't want to take responsibility for it.

Darkness falls over Camelot.

Prompt: A Picture Worth a Thousand Words

PROMPT: Find a favorite picture. Write about how it makes you feel and what you like about it. Describe the picture.



I took this picture myself in a stretch of countryside about 2 miles from my home. The tree looks dead, doesn't it? It's just this stark dead husk in a barren landscape of dirt and frost. In places it has been broken down by life - see the branch towards the top that has been torn right off? There is an old fence around it, also battered down by life. At one time it may have protected the tree but now it is just a relic itself. The sky is a dull, sullen grey with nothing to break its endless existence. All in all, it's a pretty bleak picture.

But...

In the summer this tree explodes with green leaves. The field behind it grows tall, strong corn. Birds frequent the tree. The sky is that brilliant blue that only the sky can be and the air is crisp and clean and fragrant. This little spot becomes the picture of summer life and beauty. It thrives!

The whole reason I chose this picture is that I feel it could be a symbol of me. The tree in this picture was obviously once strong and beautiful or it wouldn't be the height and breadth that is it. Right now it seems barren, dead, abandoned and depressing. But a lot of that is the light in which it is portrayed. The harsh black and white view of things makes for a stunning picture but it is neither accurate nor reassuring. And finally, I cling to the belief that my summer will come again. My fields will grow nourishment for my life and that of others, I will grow and reach up and out in new life and new growth and attain new heights. And life will be full of color and joy again.

Achmed the Dead Terrorist

A little levity in a dark world. This is a trip... It's Achmed the Dead Terrorist and it's this dude with a skeleton puppet. Guy's name is Jeff Dunham. Funny stuff...