March 27, 2004
One more therapy session down.
This one was a lot more traditional, I think.
It consisted mostly of me, whining.
(Yeah yeah I know. But I WAS whining and while I don't feel all that good about it, it must have been part of the process because I feel a LOT better now.)
The past week was pretty dismal.
On Wednesday, I wrote:
The demons are active. I think they know I want to get rid of them, or at least tie them down securely.
One friend who knows about these things replied that it can indeed happen that way, that subconscious defenses get nervous when threatened.
Or words to that effect.
Thursday was worse. It would have been Jeremy's 53rd birthday.
Now I know there are those of you out there who think my obsession with him is grossly misplaced, and I know it is. Was. Whatever.
But the period between Feb. 24 and March 25 will probably always be difficult, only (I hope) not as difficult as it was this year, the first.
I am fully aware that I was mourning on the birthday of a man whom I had not seen in over ten years, who never remembered my birthday while he was alive (although he's in good company, there) and who used me and other women to feed his ego.
Et Cetera Ad Nauseam.
But I must face that this is a part of what is bothering me because it's the only subject that caused me to come anywhere near crying, in the therapist's office.
It's less about him and whether he was worthy of this obsession, and more about me and what it represents, symbolizes, stands for in my head.
And how it affects how I behave and conduct my life from now, on.
One more thing about the therapy before I move on:
For the first time in the four sessions with Howard, I got the therapist stare.
In my experience with previous doctors and psychologists, it's usually there through most of the time during each session.
If you haven't had the pleasure, it's the one where, after you've spilled your guts and maybe had a revelation or two in your own mind, you need to take a breath and decide at the same time to get some feedback so you look at the therapist because until now you've been looking down at your hands or at the carpet, and on the therapist's face you see…
a look that means
It can be very frustrating.
Now I adore Howard and once in four sessions is marvelously rare for this sort of thing, and in a way it was okay because it made me feel more like it was THERAPY, that if he adopted this look it must mean we're making progress.
Or else that I'm boring him to death.
Or that I'm making SO little sense that he's ready to call in the men in white coats.
In any case, as I told him, I felt a lot better leaving his office than I did going in. Furthermore, the good feeling is still with me more than a day later.
I feel more like myself than I have in weeks.
In other news:
I joined one of those online community network things, Orkut.
Okay, I was dragged into it kicking and screaming by a well-meaning friend trying to get me out of my funk.
Whenever I see that name I think of Orkin which is an insect extermination company.
But Orkut is supposedly named for its developer, a google person by that name.
It's a multi-purpose network which can be used for dating, socializing, business networking (if they say so) and just hanging out.
Members create "communities" by interest. Others join and have conversations on a message-board.
I really didn't like it much at first.
I only knew a few people.
A lot of the groups are kind of high-school-ish.
Worse, many are inactive.
But it's picking up a little, I've met some people, started a menopause group which a few women actually joined, some of whom were even - gasp - strangers.
I even found a couple more groups where I feel more at home, such as the "Grammar Nazis".
The thing is, the only way to join this community is by invitation so if anyone reading this is interested, and I know you, know of you, or you can convince me that you're not a pervert, email me and I'll be happy to send you an invitation thereby increasing my friend list at the same time so I won't look like such a loner.
Yes I know I can invite members to be my "friend" too but that's too big a leap of faith for me. Just imagine the rejection…
Still posting occasional short entries in the blog.
I recently came across this online journal by a nice young American man who lives in London England.
He's my son Mark's age - 22 - and writes beautifully.
Now why can't the North American education system turn out more literate people like this???
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