Sorry I’ve been AWOL, snowed under with dissertation. Excuses, I know. Get the thumbscrews.
So since I last posted, the egg finally cracked over T2 (did you know you cannot crack an egg, no matter how hard you try, if you squeeze top and bottom with your fingers?).
After the session now forever referred to as The Session In Which The Brick Wall Came Along Too, I was ok that night but the next day I melted. Bless T1, I emailed to say “I’m a snivelling excuse for a human” (ok not exactly, but close), and T1 put her knickers on over her tights and organised in the time it took for me to walk down a flight of stairs for me to sit in a safe room with a safe person. Unfortunately T1 was literally on her way out the door so we had a hysterically awkward moment in the corridor where I was so upset I practically threw myself into her arms (mummy issues, me? Never!) and then caught myself when my bright-red-from-snivelling nose was a mere gnats fart away from her jumper. Oops. Because she is Super-T, she sort of rubbed my arm and guided snivelling me into a nice lady’s office where I sat and panic attacked unhappily! T1 was desperately late and practically hopping from foot to foot but seemingly not wanting to leave and I will always endeavour to remember that moment – the moment someone cared enough about me to do the “I’m so late” dance. In the end I told her to go.
I pretty much screamed at the poor unsuspecting duty counsellor for 50 minutes whilst she looked at me with a heady mixture of puzzlement and amusement etched on her face. It really helped to explain the situation to someone else, too, and by the end I’d worked out what the panic was really about. I was upset at the lack of compromise, the ‘brick wall’ effect, the “this is what you’re going to do” triggeriness of it all. I was panicking because I had no way out that wasn’t going to hurt – leaving would have been an ending which is inevitably painful if you have half a caravan full of attachment issues you’re dragging around, but staying felt rigid and trapping. That trapped feeling brings up all sorts of horrible body sensations and lots and lots of hot tears that I really had no way of stopping. Mm, snot bubbles are so sexy.
I left slightly bemused lady and went home to consider my options with a clearer head. I decided that the only option I had was to pick one that wasn’t permanent – because at least then I still had choice. So I emailed T2 the next day and said I’d be in for our session. She sent me a sweet (for her…) email back which I took to be an olive branch.
Today, I was remarkably not nervous. I thought I’d carry a stomach full of bowling balls in with me but actually today was cool. In reality, it’s bittersweet. I censored everything I said, I told her what she wanted to know about my dissertation. It was fine, we giggled a bit and she celebrated my successes from the week and we basically completely ignored the fucking great gigantic, snoring and occasionally dribbling elephant in the room.
But that was ok – if it works for her, it works for me.
Then she threw me a curve ball. We talked about The End (it’s so big in my mind it deserves capital letters). 6 sessions to go. She asked me how I’d want it to be – yes seriously, scarily attachment issues girl and her sidekick, messed up Little with anxiety to burn and unhealthy fear of being left? Smart move – I goldfished at her.
Her curveball – she will write me a closing letter. When she said it I went ‘Oh My God’ because the thought of reading that just makes my mouth drier than a donkey’s elbow. She gave me options like, she could read it to me, I could read it with her there, or I could take it away. Trust me I’ll be taking it away!!
Sooooo many issues with it. What if she’s really cold, won’t I panic and hate her for leaving me with a cold uncaring letter? What if she’s suddenly really nice? Then I’ll hit Attachment City already stocked up on lambrini and with a sombrero in hand. What if, what if, what if……. Eek. Gonna have to let that one sit for a bit, it feels overwhelmingly… Personal. Particularly because I am slightly obsessed with her handwriting… I hope she types it. Or do I? Puke puke.
So overall, egg cracked, insides everywhere and now we’re tiptoeing around the fragments of egg shell. Not perfect – but something.
Have an online session with T1 tomorrow, in practice it means I’ve emailed her some junk and she’ll take time to respond to it (to be fair, she always does respond really thoughtfully to my emails, so that’s not new). I’ve asked her to explain the science behind attachment as I feel like a fraud, having attachment issues. I’ll digest what she writes back, tomorrow.
Over and out. X