I really like my counselor. She makes good observations and has the ability to outfox my intellectualized demons. It seems like every week, she says something I haven't thought of or considered before, and it's genuinely helped me in ways I never expected (or at least realistically hoped) from counseling.
For instance, I've been feeling full of self-loathing. Worthless, to the point where I feel like my disappearance would be of little significant impact to anyone. Like I don't add unique value. I'm disposable. Much of that's related to teaching, where I feel like I may as well not bother half the time. Even when I am able to help those that pay attention, I often wonder whether I'm teaching them something worthwhile. It's along the lines of a self-fulfilling prophecy: "I'm bad. If I'm doing it, it can't be good, because I'm bad and little that I do is genuinely good. So what I'm doing is bad. I'm doing bad things. That makes me bad." Insert "incomptent" or "lackluster" or whatever the hell you want. Point being, my self-esteem is at its usual low.
This is coupled with what I'd describe as a haunting. It's like a ghost Laura follows me through me life; I see her in my mind's eye, doing all the things she used to do, yet I'm as alone as ever. The emptiness is poignant, palpable, painful. It's a constant reminder of how things were/should be. Everything's just so... empty.
My counselor suggested that I use the self-hatred as a method of distancing myself from the other emotions I feel. A lot of this is based on how I raised. My mom's approach was to "put up or shut up." Either do something about a problem or don't complain about it. It's why she stayed with my dad for so long, because she wasn't going to divorce him so she would just stoically endure. So I tackle problems similarly: I try to figure out how I can fix it and, if I can't fix it, tell myself I shouldn't worry about it.
But I still feel bad. And then I feel bad about feeling bad. I feel pathetic for feeling bad. I feel desperate and useless and needy and alone and I feel disgusted for feeling all those things.
So my counselor said she believed it was ok just to feel bad. To allow myself to feel hurt or to mourn or to pine. In essence, to suffer without restraint.
It's not something I've done much of, for a lot of reasons. There's always felt like there's so much pain that if I let a bit through a dam will burst. It burst when Laura broke up with me, when I wailed and cried in pure, unadulterated pain. And she was scared and distant and didn't reach out, didn't comfort me, didn't say much of anything. After two and a half years of saying, practically daily, that she loved me.
And I'm scared of that. I'm scared of driving people away with the intensity of my sorrow. I'm scared of so many things it practically makes me neurotic sometimes.
But maybe my counselor's right. Maybe I need to just feel, to call someone and just let it out and hope they won't run away or shrink or shrug and utter some platitude before changing the subject.
It's daunting. But so much else is.. And the hell of winter break is upon us, so I know I'll get the opportunity. Oh, but that's a jeremiad for another day. The diaries of a depressive. Good times.
For instance, I've been feeling full of self-loathing. Worthless, to the point where I feel like my disappearance would be of little significant impact to anyone. Like I don't add unique value. I'm disposable. Much of that's related to teaching, where I feel like I may as well not bother half the time. Even when I am able to help those that pay attention, I often wonder whether I'm teaching them something worthwhile. It's along the lines of a self-fulfilling prophecy: "I'm bad. If I'm doing it, it can't be good, because I'm bad and little that I do is genuinely good. So what I'm doing is bad. I'm doing bad things. That makes me bad." Insert "incomptent" or "lackluster" or whatever the hell you want. Point being, my self-esteem is at its usual low.
This is coupled with what I'd describe as a haunting. It's like a ghost Laura follows me through me life; I see her in my mind's eye, doing all the things she used to do, yet I'm as alone as ever. The emptiness is poignant, palpable, painful. It's a constant reminder of how things were/should be. Everything's just so... empty.
My counselor suggested that I use the self-hatred as a method of distancing myself from the other emotions I feel. A lot of this is based on how I raised. My mom's approach was to "put up or shut up." Either do something about a problem or don't complain about it. It's why she stayed with my dad for so long, because she wasn't going to divorce him so she would just stoically endure. So I tackle problems similarly: I try to figure out how I can fix it and, if I can't fix it, tell myself I shouldn't worry about it.
But I still feel bad. And then I feel bad about feeling bad. I feel pathetic for feeling bad. I feel desperate and useless and needy and alone and I feel disgusted for feeling all those things.
So my counselor said she believed it was ok just to feel bad. To allow myself to feel hurt or to mourn or to pine. In essence, to suffer without restraint.
It's not something I've done much of, for a lot of reasons. There's always felt like there's so much pain that if I let a bit through a dam will burst. It burst when Laura broke up with me, when I wailed and cried in pure, unadulterated pain. And she was scared and distant and didn't reach out, didn't comfort me, didn't say much of anything. After two and a half years of saying, practically daily, that she loved me.
And I'm scared of that. I'm scared of driving people away with the intensity of my sorrow. I'm scared of so many things it practically makes me neurotic sometimes.
But maybe my counselor's right. Maybe I need to just feel, to call someone and just let it out and hope they won't run away or shrink or shrug and utter some platitude before changing the subject.
It's daunting. But so much else is.. And the hell of winter break is upon us, so I know I'll get the opportunity. Oh, but that's a jeremiad for another day. The diaries of a depressive. Good times.
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