Danyul Goes To Therapy:Self-Esteem & Cold Love
Another session I'm not looking forward to. I've expressed the desire to leave, I wonder if this will be the last session I attend with Hermonie. In the beginning, it showed so much promise, but per usual, it's fallen apart in less than three months. Take one step forward and eight back with me, I swear to God. And I don't even believe in him. Why would I believe in God after everything that's fucking happened to me? Seems a bit far-fetched to believe there is some invisible man up in the clouds who watches everything I ever do, loves me unconditionally yet leaves me to suffer in all different types of agony. Ah, we'll have my atheism for another day, this is all about therapy.
I don't want her to ask me how I am. I know she doesn't give a flying fuck. If she did, she'd have made a real effort to help me instead of sitting on her ass. That seems to be what she does best. She comes to get me 5 minutes late as usual. Sometimes I feel like she's just doing this to test my patients; see if she can type me over into a sort of homicidal rage. If she wants to do that all she has to do is ask me about my thoughts on capital punishment and I'll go off like a Roman rocket. (I really love the idea of it. Maybe I'll do a blog on it at a later date.) After we're settled in her office she looks me dead in the face and goes, "So Dan, how goes it?" I feel my temples throb.
"Well, I am losing the house. Nothing I've done has been successful. I've put in for even more jobs, I've had an interview or two but nothing has been successful." I think about telling her that I think I might be cursed and that nothing will work out for me, but I know that's moronic."Well, something should come out of this if you put that many applications in." I don't know quite why, but it feels like she's doubting me. I also don't mention that I have the feeling I'll be out on my ass once again and I'm one of those people who go nowhere in life and live in a constant bubble of misery until they finally kill themselves. I approach it a bit realistically. "I've been trying for the past 6 months looking for work, putting in for work, I got one interview in that time. I have two set up for this upcoming week, but given my past experience, I'm not that hopeful. I've learned that to be hopeful for things is foolish." I don't go on to share the rest of my feelings. Having hope only adds to despair; It worsens my already low self-esteem when rejection comes and cracks me over the head. After all that I've experienced in life, being optimistic is one of the most dangerous and stupid things you could ever do. (And I've done a lot of those things.)
I also don't mention how my campaign to help save the house has been completely fruitless and has only made me feel more pathetic, stupid and worthless. I know she doesn't care what I have to say. She's not really that engaging. She knows she's on thin ice with me after the questioning last time. "You know, I've been thinking about the whole help the bullied kid thing you brought up the last session." This catches her attention. She didn't think that I'd think that I'd have put more thought into it than what I did during the session. Normally, I don't unless it catches my attention. Not much she says catches my attention. "Oh?" "Yeah, I thought about the idea of a child coming to me, asking for help." "What about it?" "That I still wouldn't do it. That it's just completely moronic." My thoughts trail off. Every time that I've tried to do something nice or kind for another person, I get it shoved up my ass. I'm sick of it. I really don't want to be nice anymore. I put in so much effort trying to be nice, to fight and maybe be accepted and every time its been a complete fuck up. "Helping people only brings trouble." Why should I tell her details when I already know why I am the way that I am? I wasn't always monstrous. I had somewhat of a soul when I was a child. As I grew older the light inside burned out and the small soul I possessed with ripped from me. Actually, beaten out of me would be a more accurate thing to say.
I don't remember how we got onto the subject, but necrophilia came up. Oh, that's it, she asked me if I'd seen The Fall, since she knows serial killers are a passion of mine. I guess she was trying to brighten my mood and engage me in something that brings me joy. She said something and I go, "you know, I'm not all that bothered by necrophilia." She almost falls out of the chair. "What?" "Necrophilia. I mean, think about it. It's really a convenience thing you know. You don't need to waste money on dates or chocolate or whatever. Cost effective fucking! I don't think there's anything illegal about it. Morally, it's not everybody's flavour I get that, but why is there a legal issue? The thing inside the person, the thing that makes them who they are is gone, so why do you need to get consent? It's just meat left." Horror clouds her face. "I mean, there's a fucking limit! Fresh dead is okay, you know right until after rigour ends, but after serious purification stars in, no thank you. I'll never understand guys that do that, it's like have some goddamn standards!" "Right..." She can't think of anything else to say. I don't let up, I decide to indulge myself a little bit. "That was one thing that really bothered me about Gary Ridgeway." "Who was he again?" "Green River Killer. Washington, State, convicted of 48 counts of aggravated murder, confessed to 71 but admitted that he doesn't remember how many women he kill-"She cuts me off. "Right, so, go on." Rude. I could have if she hadn't interrupted me. "He fucked corpses, like he went back when they were falling apart and would plug away. That's just poor taste. He was already killing a lot of hookers, why didn't he just kill another one and have a fresh hole? Was one ore really going to tire him out? Seems like he just got lazy to me." Hermonie sits in a stunned silence. I don't think that's what she was expecting when she came into work today.
Most of the rest of the session was fuzzy. I couldn't focus and I don't remember all that well. This happened a little over a week ago, but most of the parts are gone. That's not a good sign at all. I can't concentrate anymore. I'm worried and unsettled. I feel tremendous pressure on me all while battling thoughts of self-harm. Everything is once again in pieces. The warm air of early summer is surrounding me and I feel like a child again. My thoughts drift to ice lollies, playing with frogs in the creek and a time when I wasn't so consumed by everything.
I remember leaving therapy less angry than I have the last month or so of sessions. Now that I look back at the dates of all the appointments, it was a month and a half of sessions. I don't think going is helping. I'm starting to shut down. I feel worse about everything than before. She offers no real help or insight into anything. I'm craving something more, so much more. I've asked about setting up a medication appointment even though I really don't want to go back on meds. I hate the way they make me feel but I have to try something. I don't know if I can be as open with them as I need to be. I'm self-conscious about everything. I don't want to be seen as gross. Or have to open up. It's difficult when I know nothing about that person and have limited access to them. I can't be the only one who feels this way.
"Well, I am losing the house. Nothing I've done has been successful. I've put in for even more jobs, I've had an interview or two but nothing has been successful." I think about telling her that I think I might be cursed and that nothing will work out for me, but I know that's moronic."Well, something should come out of this if you put that many applications in." I don't know quite why, but it feels like she's doubting me. I also don't mention that I have the feeling I'll be out on my ass once again and I'm one of those people who go nowhere in life and live in a constant bubble of misery until they finally kill themselves. I approach it a bit realistically. "I've been trying for the past 6 months looking for work, putting in for work, I got one interview in that time. I have two set up for this upcoming week, but given my past experience, I'm not that hopeful. I've learned that to be hopeful for things is foolish." I don't go on to share the rest of my feelings. Having hope only adds to despair; It worsens my already low self-esteem when rejection comes and cracks me over the head. After all that I've experienced in life, being optimistic is one of the most dangerous and stupid things you could ever do. (And I've done a lot of those things.)
I also don't mention how my campaign to help save the house has been completely fruitless and has only made me feel more pathetic, stupid and worthless. I know she doesn't care what I have to say. She's not really that engaging. She knows she's on thin ice with me after the questioning last time. "You know, I've been thinking about the whole help the bullied kid thing you brought up the last session." This catches her attention. She didn't think that I'd think that I'd have put more thought into it than what I did during the session. Normally, I don't unless it catches my attention. Not much she says catches my attention. "Oh?" "Yeah, I thought about the idea of a child coming to me, asking for help." "What about it?" "That I still wouldn't do it. That it's just completely moronic." My thoughts trail off. Every time that I've tried to do something nice or kind for another person, I get it shoved up my ass. I'm sick of it. I really don't want to be nice anymore. I put in so much effort trying to be nice, to fight and maybe be accepted and every time its been a complete fuck up. "Helping people only brings trouble." Why should I tell her details when I already know why I am the way that I am? I wasn't always monstrous. I had somewhat of a soul when I was a child. As I grew older the light inside burned out and the small soul I possessed with ripped from me. Actually, beaten out of me would be a more accurate thing to say.
I don't remember how we got onto the subject, but necrophilia came up. Oh, that's it, she asked me if I'd seen The Fall, since she knows serial killers are a passion of mine. I guess she was trying to brighten my mood and engage me in something that brings me joy. She said something and I go, "you know, I'm not all that bothered by necrophilia." She almost falls out of the chair. "What?" "Necrophilia. I mean, think about it. It's really a convenience thing you know. You don't need to waste money on dates or chocolate or whatever. Cost effective fucking! I don't think there's anything illegal about it. Morally, it's not everybody's flavour I get that, but why is there a legal issue? The thing inside the person, the thing that makes them who they are is gone, so why do you need to get consent? It's just meat left." Horror clouds her face. "I mean, there's a fucking limit! Fresh dead is okay, you know right until after rigour ends, but after serious purification stars in, no thank you. I'll never understand guys that do that, it's like have some goddamn standards!" "Right..." She can't think of anything else to say. I don't let up, I decide to indulge myself a little bit. "That was one thing that really bothered me about Gary Ridgeway." "Who was he again?" "Green River Killer. Washington, State, convicted of 48 counts of aggravated murder, confessed to 71 but admitted that he doesn't remember how many women he kill-"She cuts me off. "Right, so, go on." Rude. I could have if she hadn't interrupted me. "He fucked corpses, like he went back when they were falling apart and would plug away. That's just poor taste. He was already killing a lot of hookers, why didn't he just kill another one and have a fresh hole? Was one ore really going to tire him out? Seems like he just got lazy to me." Hermonie sits in a stunned silence. I don't think that's what she was expecting when she came into work today.
Most of the rest of the session was fuzzy. I couldn't focus and I don't remember all that well. This happened a little over a week ago, but most of the parts are gone. That's not a good sign at all. I can't concentrate anymore. I'm worried and unsettled. I feel tremendous pressure on me all while battling thoughts of self-harm. Everything is once again in pieces. The warm air of early summer is surrounding me and I feel like a child again. My thoughts drift to ice lollies, playing with frogs in the creek and a time when I wasn't so consumed by everything.
I remember leaving therapy less angry than I have the last month or so of sessions. Now that I look back at the dates of all the appointments, it was a month and a half of sessions. I don't think going is helping. I'm starting to shut down. I feel worse about everything than before. She offers no real help or insight into anything. I'm craving something more, so much more. I've asked about setting up a medication appointment even though I really don't want to go back on meds. I hate the way they make me feel but I have to try something. I don't know if I can be as open with them as I need to be. I'm self-conscious about everything. I don't want to be seen as gross. Or have to open up. It's difficult when I know nothing about that person and have limited access to them. I can't be the only one who feels this way.
Comments
Post a Comment