I have been thinking about writing here several times for the past few weeks. I don’t quite know what has stopped me.
Actually, that’s a lie. I do. I fear that when I detail out my life, my most intimate thoughts, that I’ll go to places I don’t want to go. It’s part of the reason – or maybe the reason – I have not been to therapy in about a year.
I think about my therapist often. I go by her office nearly every day on the way home from work. Sometimes her car is there, sometimes it is not. I like to see her car and have the reassurance that she’s still practicing, in case I feel the need to go in for a session. It’s been nearly a year, and I still like to have that small comfort; the thought that I have someone safe to talk to if the need arises.
My life lately has been completely engulfed by medical issues. I was diagnosed with Lyme Disease earlier this year. It is suspected that I have actually had it for at least 12 years, which explains so many of the odd problems that I’ve had for so long. It could have even been a cause, or major factor, in the onset of my depression when I was 15 (I currently don’t think about any other possible reasons why. That is my state of mind at the moment).
My heart rate is increasing as I write. Why?
I am afraid to face the thoughts that always nag me….They are always there, ready to pounce during moments of emotional weakness. And the thoughts have been coming on so much stronger. The question. Always the question. And again, why?
Because of my life. Because of the way I’m living it. Because of who is in it. Every day. And the fact that I don’t mind it. The fact that a part of me – and a larger one at that – is happy about it.
My heart rate is reaching its peak now. I feel myself starting to mentally drift away, like a small boat being hammered by relentless waves and pushed out to sea. And so begs the question: should I be as okay as I am that my father is now such a large part of my life? The even more horrible, intolerable question. One I’m not ready to face yet.
So I won’t. Not yet.
I have had time to come to terms with why I stopped therapy, and why I did it so abruptly. While I had been going a bit less often, I simply told my therapist at the start of what would be our last session that I was thinking about quitting therapy. So I did.
I’ve come to realize why. I had been experiencing more and more medical problems during the time I was seeing her. I’d been seeing different doctors because something just seemed wrong. And while my therapist was supportive that I get everything checked, she (to me) seemed just as supportive of telling me that all of my symptoms could also be psychosomatic.
I realize now, whether she really noticed or not, that I rebelled against that. I couldn’t handle the thought that, after everything, I could not trust even what my body was physically telling me. I had such a fight going on in my head with one side telling me that my symptoms were legitimate and I shouldn’t stop trying to figure it out, and then the other side questioning every decision I made, whispering “it’s all in your head!”
It turns out that I was right to trust my body. Something was wrong. And it was and is effecting nearly every system in my body. I wasn’t creating the arthritic type pains in my hands (at age 27). I wasn’t creating all of my extreme neck and back aches. The shooting pains. The constant barrage of migraines (although those do get worse with stress). I wasn’t creating the sensitivities that made it painful to be touched. It wasn’t psychosomatic issues that have caused my joint tissues to break down.
For that, I harbor a small amount of anger and frustration with my therapist, although I still think of her as being wonderful. I get why she suggested those things. But it caused me to question my own sanity. I would’ve gone on for years, continuing to suffer, while being told that if I moved past my mental demons, everything would go away.
My mental demons are still there, hidden way back in the recesses of my mind, but the pain is slowly getting better as I continue intense antibiotic treatment that will last approximately a year.
The result? Now I’m just left with my demons. I’ve gotten a good handle on them, though the way I’ve handled them is by ignoring them. Constantly. It’s worked for now, but somehow I know that things aren’t done. No matter how happy I may be at times, there’s always this question of whether that part of my life – the part I’ve pushed away – is still there. Or even if it was real.
The more I push it away, the less real it is. More and more often I find myself thinking, “No, that never happened. How could I ever thought it had? We have a relationship now. He clearly loves me very dearly. It’s not possible. It’s a sin that I even think it was.” I questioned myself a lot while I was in therapy. Those questions eased a bit once I stopped. Now I find myself facing those questions with a renewed fervor.
What if? What if? What if?
I know what she would say. She doesn’t know if it happened or not. She can’t tell me. But OH, how desperately I wish she would. How else do I come to terms with this? I remember one of the things I told her in my last session – a big reason why I stopped – was that I felt I would never be able to answer that question for myself, so why keep up the torture?
Now the question is, which torture is worse? I can’t believe it happened, because he’s so much a part of my life now. That is irreversible. He’s back in my life. But I don’t want to reverse it. So what does that mean? It means either that I’m a sick person or that I know it never happened.
And this is why I don’t know that I’d have the courage to see my therapist again. What would she think? Sure, she’s not supposed to judge and all of that. But everyone – everyone – has opinions. No matter how much we try not to, there’s always some part that thinks about whether something is “right” or “wrong” based on our own personal standards and those of the general norm of human existence. It’s human. It’s inherent. She will judge, whether she realizes it or not.
I guess I should call. My little boat is so far from shore.