Nov 13

 Hmm. A lot has gone on this week.

On therapy day we got right into it about identity.

I had talked a little with a therapist friend I have in the meantime between one week and the next, and he had said that people with chronic illness can also lose their identity. Either they lose it entirely. Or their illness becomes who they are. This was insightful. As soon as he said that I understood. Absolutely. All the things I used to do, but couldn't anymore. We talked about that still being just things you do, but, it does form the environment and ends up a blurry representation of your identity. I do get it.

I talked it over with the shrink. Probably a little of column A and a little of column B. A weak sense of identity due to the Not Great childhood, and then chronic illness had robbed me of everything else.

We talked also about my doubt about it all. That I was over dramatising it. That it wasn't that bad. Everything was ok. I was just weaving a narrative arc around myself. The same thing everyone does. And that I had just noped out of thinking about it.

The shrink was objective. Maybe. I am over dramatising it. Maybe. But. Regardless it is my experience. But even then. They noted all the things I had related. The events. The experiences. These were not good. Objectively. I had not had a good childhood. At the very least.

We talked about my retreat. The shrink asked me what I thought about it. I said it looked very much like the typical denial response. It looked like I had reached out got burned and hastily pulled back. No thank you. I said none of this was really stuff I didn't know - about my childhood at least - but. With each textbook confirmation of damage. Of reality. It takes on a very heavy weight.

It becomes real the shrink said.

It moves it again from the probably, theoretical, exploring, maybe, maybe not, into the, no, this definitely fucked me up, and this is how much and how far. You go from exploratory. To consequence. And this week. That fucked me up. More than anything has.

We talked a little about my doubt. About how prominent doubt was for me. I explained that doubt was a necessary cornerstone of being a "better" person. Question whether something is right. And know that you can never be entirely sure. When you lose doubt you are at great risk of just being arrogant. Ending up an asshole. Always keep an open mind.

And that doubt is strong the shrink said. It's your inner critic.

I said it wasn't lip service. And the harder you challenge your thoughts, the more robust they are. Authenticity. It's kind of related to my inner critic. But. It's just a challenge of any accepted assumption. Prove it.

I said I thought it made for a better person. But. You can also see. That you can push it. And there can be a self destructive tendency in there. I'd rather burn in front of the truth, than live in peace of escapism. Burn me down.

You are not kind to yourself the shrink said. But then why would you be. You were never shown that as a child. You never learned how to do that.

I agreed I wasn't kind to myself, that my inner critic could be brutal. But. That wasn't entirely true. I had learned to give myself a break at times. To be compassionate about myself. But. It wasn't the "cake". It was more like the icing. I said that the whole kind to myself was something that developed later in me. A very learned thing. It wasn't my essence. So just smeared on the top. An almost afterthought.

It was also useful I said to do that whole flip yourself to someone else, and then you are compassionate towards that Other who is suffering. Which then makes you realise. That's you, you idiot ! 

What you give with one hand you take away with another the shrink said. I can see you've done work and learned compassion, but even speaking about it, you learn to be kind but then follow it up by calling yourself an idiot for not doing it beforehand or realising it. You can't let yourself have one thing without punishing yourself about it.

It is idiotic I said. Not realising that simple thing. But anyway. We then talked about the difficulty in accepting compliments, and the lack of any kind of satisfaction with tasks. Again the shrink said that I hadn't had any of this as a child. Had not learned that. So I didn't have it as an adult.

I have lost some threads of the conversation we had. 

By the end I had slumped into it being too much. I told them I had spent much of last week in a horrible state. Sick. Exhausted. 

It was too much I whispered.

The shrink looked very sad.

I can see it's very hard they said. And quickly followed with, to state the obvious. As it saying it was hard was too trite. I am sorry it's so hard for you and that you've had to experience that.

Tough titties isn't it I said quietly. It is life. Not all roads are happy ones. Not all endings are good ones. You have to have bad ones to understand the good ones.

The shrink thought about it.

Yin yang I said because they seemed to be struggling a little with it. Dark and light. You cannot have light without the dark. And I am like a cautionary tale. A bad ending. That everyone else can be reassured that they are not.

What do you mean bad ending the shrink said.

Uh huh. I didn't bite. We had talked a little about where the suicide level was this week at the start of the session. I posted vaguely instead and said, a path of suffering and misery, rather than saying the obvious. A bad ending. Suffering, misery and then dying. One way or another.

I can see that from your perspective you are on this downwards path. But. Things can change.

Sure I said. But objectively speaking. Is that likely. Occam's razor. Whats the most likely thing. I smiled bleakly. It's not going to get better. And yes. I get it. You are the bearer of hope.

That's my job the shrink said. But you come here. Every week. Which isn't easy for you. So there must be some part of you that hopes.

I laughed long at this. I apologised. I wasn't mocking them. Or thinking they were stupid. It was just... funny. Hope. Like giving out a leaflet of prayer to the damned in hell. Yeah. No. 

The shrink didn't take offence. They could see it was funny from one angle.

We were out of time.

But we didn't finish.

A long silence. I was down in the pit. The shrink knew it. Despair. They didn't hurry me.

I also related during the session - again - the mean things my mom would say to my sister, way past the point that she had stopped being mean to me. And the huge hurt my sister would take from them. You're not really part of this family are you. I noted at that point also, that, regardless of what I thought about my childhood, even if I doubt, I had clear, obvious evidence that the same shitty behaviour I had experienced as a child was happening through into adult life to my siblings. As viewed firsthand by me. As an adult. If you were approaching it scientifically. Facts. The doubt. Seems very unlikely. And more likely just denial. In fact. It's not really debatable. You can perhaps argue about where that line is. How shit is shit. But it was shit. Objectively. Albeit. The denial bit of me. Seems slow to want to acknowledge it.

My brother has his experiences. As both a child and an adult. My sister has her experiences. As both a child and an adult. They are bad. I have my experiences as a child and young adult, but, I pushed back. Unacceptable behaviour. I will give respect when it is earned.

I think. That's the difference between me and my siblings there. I talked about it with the shrink. It was I said if you wanted to call it that. My boundary. I put a firm boundary down. And my mom went to pieces with it. Tears. And tantrums. But I didn't relent. Wasn't mean. But didn't relent. And. From thereon in. I said to the shrink that my mom was "careful" around me. She didn't ever pull any of that bullshit ever again. But. My mom changed. Her illness made her vulnerable, changed who she was. But then again. Even then. She was still mean to my sister. So maybe she only changed to me.

The shrink thought it highly likely it was my boundary. Sticking up for myself and saying no. The shrink said that when I had put that boundary down, for the first time my mom got a taste of her behaviour back at her. It wasn't just accepted. It was blocked. And called out. And it made it visible to her. And caused a crisis.

In any case. She changed towards me. And I then had a better, even good, relationship with my mom in the twilight of her years.

Perhaps that's something I should bring up next time. I do have a good memory of my mom. Of talking to her. And her listening. And each of us understanding what the other was going through. But. This is me as a much much older adult. This comes after a long and horrible childhood and early adulthood. Prior to that. I have few if any good memories of her. Just. Danger. Always wary. Always combative. Always volatile. Harsh. Hard.

But when I miss her. And I do quite a bit. I am missing the her that listened. The her that I talked to most days where I would listen to her and she to me, and we would talk about deep and difficult things. About how to get through a day. But also about her childhood. And what she liked. And what she thought. I miss that mom. Who would phone me up.  

I opened the week as I always do. Asking the shrink how they are. It is. Important to me to do so. For anyone. But with the shrink. It has that added dimension. Of a probe at your boundaries. A test of your mask. Will anything leak today.

The shrink paused a fraction of a second. And with a very slightly pinch to their features. And a slightly subdued I am ok thank you. I raised my eyebrows.

Ooh I said. 

What did you get the shrink asked. 

Not great huh I said.

The shrink half smiled at me. Well. It's dark. And gloomy. The shrink felt the need to justify.

Uh huh. Masked. But not well enough. Funny how the body always tells tales on you, even when you are professionally obliged to be a blank slate.

I get the strong impression, that outside of a professional context the shrink is quite emotionally variable. They are most definitely not stoic. Even though inside the therapy room they do an incredibly good impression of being an even keeled, neutral, mindful person. They are in fact someone who is very sensitive to the smallest of issues. Too hot. Too cold. Too noisy. Too busy. Too stinky. Too dark. Too wet. They have over the months expressed these things in the tiniest of ways. Very careful. But. It paints a picture. Off leash. This is someone who is very susceptible to moods and their environment. It makes me wonder what they are like in private. Whether they are a bit of a walking basket case themselves. It seems quite possible given the underlying temperament. But who knows. I am looking through the keyhole into a room I can barely see. Still. The converse. If someone you met for 6 months was unruffled by the weather, other people, the environment. And was casually cheerful about it all. It would tell you something. Compared to someone who was irritated by every change. Even if the irritation was kept suppressed.

After therapy I went to meet up with a couple of friends.

This was Taking The Piss. But. Do it.

We talked for a few hours. Played a simple game. One of my friends I hadn't seen in a few years. They were very happy to see me. Very happy to play a game with me. And when we split up to go home, he gave me a hug. I appreciate the love. I still find it curious that people can be that fond of me. Or. Look like they're that fond of me. And I know. That's really just the cynical inner critic of me. Guys don't tend to just hand out hugs to other guys willy nilly. I am always left just slightly bewildered that someone gives a shit. Me ? Are you sure ?

But then again. This completely tracks with not having had it as a child. As an adult. I can't quite believe why you'd ever show affection for me. That's just. Crazy.

The rest of this week I predictably crashed. Work was a shit show. Or rather. Lack of work. I managed to scrape something useful together on Wednesday in between crashes. 

The end of this week. The hospital called. A cancellation. Am I free for surgery this Monday ? Err. Sure. Pre check on Friday.

To be honest. I don't want it. I don't want to have to go to hospital. I am anxious about trying to not flake out for the inevitable gruelling marathon of just waiting aimlessly about at the hospital will do to me. Maintaining for that length of time is... almost impossible. I'd rather just curl up in a ball at home. And continue my twilight.

But one foot in front of another. Auto pilot. I will go. Until I keel over.

They may ban me in my pre check anyway. They nearly did last time. I don't care either way at this point.

And the surgery itself doesn't worry me at all. Once again. I am not worried about dying. The risks. In the highly unlikely eventuality I don't wake up again. That will be a win for me. Not a loss. Dying on the table. What an ideal way to go. It is the closest I can get to state sanctioned euthanasia. I am happy about the idea. Not worried.

This will be my third bout with general anaesthetic. That oh so interesting blur of consciousness and huge brain fog before you disappear. And that weird rising from the depths afterwards where you are fragmented for many minutes before pulling together into a recognisable you. I like those quasi moments. Where I am not me. I like going into the dark, being in the dark, and emerging from it. I don't like returning fully to the light. Obviously. The light is where everything is shit. The dark has only peaceful oblivion. 

Perhaps this time I wont return.

That would be nice. And at least people wouldn't be haunted by a suicide that way.