Paranoia Doesn't Mean I'm Not Right

Before I checked myself into the psych hospital at the tail edges of my little meltdown/nervous breakdown, I let a few people know so they wouldn't worry. Among the people I told was a man who I report to for my favorite part-time job, the man who talked me into this job. His email reply was short, but supportive.

I emailed him when I got out, mentioning how I'd not done well on the job before I went in and wondering what he wanted to do about that. He usually emails me or calls me a lot during a week just to keep me up to date and to keep in touch.

I've had one text message, basically the same as the one he sent before I went in. And that's it. According to another member of the team, this man who supported me seems to have the same phobia that another good friend of mine (same age cohort as the man with the job): a fear that people with "mental illness" are never as stable or dependable as "normal, healthy" people and as such should be avoided as employees. At least, that's my fear and my current perception of this situation. 

And this situation and these reactions, ladies, gentlemen, and others, are why I choose to make this blog as anonymous as is reasonable and why I have not told my more stable job about it. I'm paranoid, but not a complete idiot. Just a partial one with a lazy streak.

Fine. Be That Way.

Yet again, no help is offered from Life. "You are so strong!" "Look at how much you've done!" "See? You have already done it!" Sigh.

Maybe from your perspective, but not so much from mine. I can see how much more there is to do. And I'm TIRED!!!! So I want a little help. (Yo, Universe! A little help?)

I don't want to recreate the wheel. If there are established ways that work in my situation, that help to develop more positive mental states that last, then it seems to me that following those paths would be efficacious. This is not necessarily a time when "go the way less travelled" or "go your own way" or thinking outside the box is the good option.

Fix now, creative later.

===

Much later ...

I've spent the evening with my neighbors on the south side of the house. They rock. I haven't had any alcohol for awhile due to my previous psych saying "no no" due to the medications I'm on (other medical folks have been less stringent), and they gave me some wine. Then some more wine. Then dinner. Then, when it was just me and her (because he was asleep on the couch in front of the TV), homemade kahlua and cream over ice. Mmm. And lots of talking about Mom and grief and Mom's choices about the estate and about their family and about my special friend (because they were a couple I shared the potential with back when it started) and all kinds of stuff. I haven't been tipsy in quite awhile. If I can, I'm going to join them for their 7:30 am walk. If not tomorrow, then definitely the following morning. Tomorrow I may not manage it. I am feeling pretty darned good.

Anyway, I got plenty of validation about being alone and trying to do things alone and it being difficult and nothing about being all positive. I liked it. I know other people are trying to be helpful, but it is also very helpful for someone to say "yes, you are alone. yes, it is hard. I hear you and my heart goes out to you. Have some more wine."

I had a great time.  Now I'm tipsy. And tired. I'll write tomorrow when I can function mentally.

Therapy knocked me down and made me cry

Yeah, that therapy is a big ol' bully. Makes me cry. Makes me look at things that hurt me. Knocks me clear on my butt and leaves me sore and tired all the rest of the day. Sheesh.  Therapy is a mean muthuh.

What made me cry? Well, we talked about Mother's Day. I didn't get teary or even emotional yesterday. But I cried on Saturday because someone told me she was aware that this, my first one without Mom, would be extra hard and that she was thinking of me. No one else said anything to me, until they read the blog. Not my oldest friends. Not my mom's friends; not even her best friend who was supposed to adopt me. I felt ignored and that the people who say they care simply didn't think about me or felt it wasn't important. I felt even more alone and isolated than ever.

So when Karen-the-therapist and I began talking about it, I began crying. The more we talked about it and how I felt and why, the harder I cried. I even became inarticulate from time to time, I was crying so hard. It just wouldn't stop, all my feelings of loneliness and missing Mom and feeling that my friends don't think of me (whether they do or not, this is how I feel) came flooding out. 

I was a mess.

I read something in a blog comment today that really bothered me. Someone had written in about how isolated and hurting she felt, and how hard it was to see how well the blog author was doing after a year and the woman who wrote in felt she'd made no progress. 

One of the commenters was trying to be helpful and going on about how the only person you can count on is you, that only you can do this stuff, and you always have to do it alone. Except, I don't think the commenter is all alone. I think she has family. When you have backup, even if you are doing things yourself, you are not in isolation. It bothered me because I truly am doing things all alone and I'm not doing so well or quickly. It's harder than the commenter made it out to be. But I didn't want to be mean on the blog, even though I didn't think it was good advice to the woman who had written in.

So many of my buttons were pushed in therapy: loneliness, abandonment, fear of total isolation and friendlessness, anger that someone has diminished my experience. And therapy caused me to live through and describe each one, which hurt like hell.

That's how therapy beat me up, knocked me down, and made me cry.

Stole my lunch money too, but you have to pay for the privilege.