I’ve been meaning to write a blog post about how hard things are at the moment. I just haven’t had the words. My attachment insecurity is sky high, it’s agonising. For a few weeks T and I have had huge levels of contact, almost daily, sometimes more. It isn’t making anything better.
I am now starting to question whether I’m doing something wrong. T can never be my mother and yet I am desperate for her. I feel that since the wedding I have pulled off my rose tinted spectacles and seen our relationship for what it is. She can’t be my mother. She doesn’t want to be and she couldn’t be even if she did. Before the wedding, for years I feel that I’ve bounced between insecurity and then a loving act by T which has then helped me pretend she’s my mum. Then I bounced back again… and so on. Now I can’t see her loving acts in the same way. She read me No Matter What the other day and I was sat practically ignoring her. She doesn’t mean it. She can’t possibly love me no matter what if she doesn’t love me in the first place.
It’s become clear to me that my attachment damage is a lifelong thing. It might get better sometimes, but ultimately it is permanent damage to my soul, and there will always be relapses. I don’t know whether I am doing the right thing to support my management of this ache. I just don’t know.
Below is my email to her tonight. I don’t know if it is the right thing to do. I don’t know anything any more. I just know that I need to feel better. I need to feel better now.
I think I need to cancel Thursday. I think I need a break from therapy.
I’m exhausted with trying to make you love me and I have nothing else to give to it, I am so so so tired and that, alongside the total impossibility of you being who I need, makes me wonder if, instead of repeatedly smacking my head against the same unrelenting wall, I should be keeping myself safe by running away.
I saw GP on Friday and it was raw and exposing and awful. I was so switchy and hysterical with the attachment ache in my tummy. He kept telling me he felt helpless, he didn’t know what to say, I didn’t know either so mostly we just sat together with him holding my hands so I stopped scratching my wrists and me sobbing into his shoulder. He held my fingers tight and squeezed them, my dad used to do that. He kept saying he didn’t know what to say but he promises that he is never leaving me until a final, ultimate end, that I can leave him if I want to (that he hopes one day I will be strong and secure enough to be able to) but he has made his promise to stay and he’s keeping it, that he feels like he has adopted me and that it’s impossible not to feel parental emotion for me especially when I’m crying into his shoulder, that he will always walk with me. “I will always walk with you”. We were together about 2 hours. He texted me the next day to say he hates not being able to erase what happened and make things better.That he hates feeling helpless.
I texted him yesterday to say I’ve read from cover to cover a very intense but wonderful book – ‘My Name is Lucy Barton’. About a woman called Lucy who’s practically estranged from her mother after a very difficult childhood, Lucy gets appendicitis and ends up in hospital for weeks. Her mother comes to visit and it’s just their conversations, whilst Lucy is poorly and in bed with nothing to do but think. And an acknowledgement that bad things happened not because her mum didn’t love her but because she loved imperfectly. Which, really, is the only way we are able to love. Anyway, the doctor in the book reminded me of him so much I had to keep putting it down for fear of overwhelm. She describes him throughout the book as her ‘lovely doctor-father-man’. She describes the reason she loved him so was because through all the most difficult moments of being ill and this moment of emotional trauma etc, throughout it he ‘refused to look away’. I couldn’t find a better explanation for why he is everything my soul needs than that. He refuses to look away. Friday was awful, exposing, painful and raw but he never looked away from me. I couldn’t write a book, but if I did that’s what I would write about him.
And it’s still not enough. I’m still craving him, constantly. I’m still desperate to check he hasn’t left, to reassure myself he is still close by. It’s never going to be enough because I’m fundamentally broken in a part of my soul that is incapable
of full recovery.
I nearly texted you this morning but then I didn’t because what’s the point? It’s an attempt to prove to myself that you are staying, you haven’t left me, you love me…. but you don’t, can’t, won’t and I’m torturing myself trying to make it possible. It’s not even a conscious thing mostly but it’s never ending. Inside all this pain atm is a growing angst that our relationship is currently mimicking that of mine and my mother’s. She can’t/won’t/doesn’t love me in the way I need her to, either. She never has. That’s the entire problem. That’s how she screwed me up badly enough to end up on your sofa. But I’m SO angry with you for feeling the same with us. I know we are very different. I could write books on how you are different. I know really. But I want to never see you again right now because you aren’t saving me by loving me enough.
Not helped by such a beautiful few hours with GP where he is much more open than you (rightly) ever will be. We are friends on Facebook. He sends me songs he wants me to listen to. He tells me very personal things when they are relevant to me. Funny that, in that way, he mimics my dad. Much more obviously loving and open, but ultimately can’t save me either.
This is epically long. Sorry. I don’t want to come on Thursday. I think this is me cancelling. Maybe for longer than just this week? I don’t know.
I need to feel better.