(Song by Gordon Lightfoot – http://youtu.be/Ta0a3DFUU0Y – amazing lyrics: If you could read my mind love,
What a tale my thoughts could tell
Just like an old time movie
‘Bout a ghost from a wishin’ well
In a castle dark or a fortress strong
With chains upon my feet
You know that ghost is me
And I will never be set free
As long as I’m a ghost that you can’t see)
We fucked up in therapy this week. I got distracted by something in the waiting space that put me on high alert – I didn’t tell, hoped it would go away, thought it had gone away, but couldn’t rebalance and completely wasted our 5th to last session talking about irrelevant crap. We have so much to talk about, the end is SOON, and I’m acting like the 8 year old I feel – head in the sand, high alert, so distracted by everything other than the current task, too scared to be honest about how completely horrid this is and how scared we are and how terribly sad we are. Hoping T1 will develop a new skill as mindreader. So, distracted by something I would normally have brought up and settled myself with T1s help, I wasted a whole hour.
T2 said yesterday that she doesn’t believe any session is a wasted session. I disagree. The privilege of sitting with someone for an hour who understands means that when I mess up, it is a wasted session. I feel very stupid.
Little is distracted and terrified today. Terrified that she’s in trouble. I feel braced today, for the screaming to start, for the pain to start when I’ve not tried my best, I’ve not done the right thing. The pressure in my head is ridiculous – I’ve been bad and now I have to wait. Having some really horrid dreams at the moment, but feel like I deserve them. It’s like, when there isn’t an adult around to do the punishing, I have to find my own ways otherwise the cycle isn’t completed and I’m on edge. It would be much easier to harm and get it done with – but I know it’s not the right move, so instead I’ll just torture myself with the ‘what ifs’. Because I know and totally trust that T1 will never ever yell or hurt me, even when I see her I won’t complete the cycle – I sort of wish she would. It’s very disconcerting, expecting the first flash that never comes.
I’m off to find a safety in the black and white of the piano keys. At least then the room will fill with something other than the pressure of my fears. X