It's complicated.
I can't count how many times I've told Neil I want a lobotomy. If I could just dampen the analytical brain for a minute... just until I achieve exquisite emotional regulation...
I'm left with a default mode of intellectualizing things to death.
I bruise my friends for more. I rail at heaven's door.
It's complicated.
I have been seeing Neil for about three and a half years. Is that enough? Too much? Have I "worked through" all the things? Am I at the point of admiring the problem too much? Diminishing returns? I wrestle with these questions and I go in circles and it feels like I'm sinking when I'm trying to surface.
Today we spent most of the session talking about whether what I might be willing to talk about was actually worth talking about. So, basically a normal session for us. I try to remind myself it's really quite rare for me, in therapist mode, to think that what a client brings to therapy is irrelevant or unworthy of discussion. Words are fuel. Sometimes the magic happens in therapy. Enlightenment. Forgiveness. Compassion. Grief. Joy. Peace. Words are a necessary but not sufficient condition for the magic. And yet, I hesitate. I yearn for linear progress, despite knowing that it won't be; it can't be.
I finally talked today, after plenty of avoidance. Neil was saying something about Trump and I was trying to decide whether I had the energy to talk today or not. I decided no, and then checked in with myself again later when Neil was saying something else. I promise I do sometimes actually listen to him. At that point, the internal battle was on because we were running out of time for the day and I'd have to wait a whole week before we could talk again. Finally, the scale was tipped in favor of talking (mostly to avoid - or at least decrease - the self-flagellation sure to come).
Sometimes you hear yourself. I heard myself saying something like, "Since starting this work with you, I feel like I'm more able to have authentic relationships. I am okay with saying, regarding some relationships, 'This is not something that I'm interested in,' and that's okay. That's fine. I don't wish them any harm, I just know that it's not something I need to pursue."
Could I have continued that thought coherently, I might have said, "And there are people I feel so connected to that it's terrifying because it feels wonderful and I don't want it to change. It's as though, after a while, relationships reach this bifurcation point and I'm sorting them. Deep, meaningful friend? Or good-to-know-you acquaintance?"
A little black and white, no?
But it's progress for me, I think. Which of course makes me happy, because I must be making progress at all times in all the things.
It's probably not overstating things to say that before I started working with Neil, my relationships were almost exclusively held in equal regard. I kept nearly everyone at arm's length. It worked for me. Something about being mostly frozen. But then, slowly (insert your favorite therapy butterfly metaphor here), everything started to open and expand. I'll say it again because it can't be said enough, but that "becoming" process is fucking brutal.
via GIPHY
Relationships are different now. I love my friends so much it hurts, because I want it to stay this way forever. Sometimes I'm paralyzed because I don't want to make a mistake and ruin relationships (I know, I know). Sometimes I can just feel the love moving between us and it's beautiful, even for friends I haven't seen in ages. I love my family. I love people it'd be weird to say that to because we don't just go around saying "love" with abandon. I wonder how it might be different if we did, though.
Think about that. Breathe deeply and ponder what it would look like for you to tell people you love them.
I wonder.
More next time, friends. Thanks for reading. All these things rattling around in my head. Don't worry, I'll be obsessively ruminating on them for a while.
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