The search for housing continues. The search for an answer to “Do I go back to work?” continues. The search for the answer to “Do I go back on conventional meds?” continues. I’m still stressed, but not as much as last week, mostly because of my visit with my therapist on Monday. She pointed out that I was not using my will for what I want. “What I want?!? I don’t know what I want!” That’s not the point she says. The point is, “You’re not using your will to care for yourself, because you don’t care about yourself. I’m willing to do more for you than you are for you. I care about you more than you care about you.” I could feel myself sinking in my seat and slowly snapping back into me.
I knew I was shut down. I knew I was numbing out. I even knew that I hated myself and my life. But somehow I hadn’t made the connection between all of these things. The connection being that I was treating myself in a way that showed just how much I don’t care about myself. How could I expect things to get better under these conditions?
It felt awkward trying to shift from an absent space to a present one.
When I told her that I had no motivation to do anything, she reminded me that in those moments I am feeling something and to move those feelings through. Mainly anger. I needed to express my anger. I still have the pillows and bat she let me use a few weeks back and she encouraged me to use them in these moments. I have to admit, I feel strange doing it and it’s kinda scary, but it does move me through the emotion.
Since that visit, I’ve tried to wake up in the morning and ask myself, “What am I gonna do today to show that I care for myself?” I hate having to always analyze my thoughts and actions. I really do. It’s exhausting. But so is numbing out.