Numbers


The numbers at Group therapy are dwindling these days. I think that some people are more uncomfortable than others with the exercise of sitting with relative strangers and things not going the way they expect them to. I think that plenty of us simply want others to be ‘on our side’ when we vent. We sometimes think that just agreement with our rationale is a resolution or a cure to the pain we feel…And when people don’t give the agreement or comfort we imagine we should get we think the process is a bit of a sham.

People also think that the Doctoral students that are facilitating are ‘supposed to’ give them the answers or ‘heal’ them by virtue of some ‘magical powers’ they possess because of their education…

(But hey, what do I know about what others are thinking when they don’t come to a session?!).

I am annoyed often by people’s self-pity. I just want to say something jarring sometimes when someone in mid-personalstory says to one of the Doctoral students: “well, you would probably know more about this than me…!” They are saying it half looking for help because they are so desperate to figure things out, and half with sarcasm because ‘they’ are psych students’ (Dr’s!) and they “should” know “the answers”… After all they are the ‘educated’ ones…

Makes me want to puke. Self-pity, helplessness, resentment…

But probably because, as is said by some looking for enlightenment, “I am that”.

I just don’t want to be and am trying very hard to learn ‘away’ that painful negative loop shit…

Anyway, on a far-related note, at last night’s meeting, in the context of a discussion about not being able to identify and/or express feelings, I told a story of the second time I was molested as a child and the ways I learned that my feelings and hurt were invisible… My best interests were no factor at all in what happened in the fallout…I talked about the ways I learned to hide my feelings and not express my fear or anger. I realized during that I was telling a bunch of ‘regular’ people (not psych professionals, not 12-step people, not close friends or family) a bunch of extremely private things…like how I used to like to go to the bathroom alone when I was upset and fill the sink with warm water and sit on the counter and soak my feet…let alone telling them what happened when I was assaulted by my babysitter. I got a different feeling. Telling just ‘people’ is even more freeing. Almost like walking down the street and just matter of factly saying to someone ‘last night my partner told me he was going to beat the shit out of me’, or when I was 9 my mother didn’t care that my brother and I were hearing, almost like in stereo, she and her boyfriend having sex in the next room for an entire Saturday morning…telling us to wait to get up and do anything…because we couldn’t get up and walk around is place alone.’

Telling people things like that…is considered shocking. But not shocking because no one else has had that experience or something like it. Only shocking because of the context within which it comes up… Those experiences and others like or not so like them are real. Not so uncommon. And do not make me something I am not… And telling those people last night…felt like, even in a small way, coming into myself. I became a little more…me, not primarily because of the way they reacted (attentively and supportively), but because of the ease with which I was able to tell that story…the understanding I had that telling something like that about myself ‘belongs’…that others somehow benefit from the fact that secrets can be revealed and what is left is a person, real people…More of a person than when she kept it a secret. It can come to proper perspective, that things like that are small moments in long lives. It can come to light that people did things TO us (me) when we (I) could not stop them. That we (I)can define (my-)ourselves by the things we(i) weren’t yet allowed to reveal about who we were (I was). And that those things are who I am right now, and can now let run wild).

Back then I was disgusted by my babysitter, afraid of him. Felt completely alone, like I did not have a mother who was taking care of me. Felt like people were cruel and self interested. Felt so angry that I vindicated myself the only way I could. That is all true. That is all who I am. Not a destroyed, or damaged girl. Simply a girl who had little recourse or support or protection but never gave up on trying to protect or vindicate HERSELF.

If I were in some kind of race to me, to be me, to me being the prize in my own life? I would say my numbers are up…

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About wonderfulshantelle

Journey To My Wonderful Self

Posted on May 7, 2014, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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