I’ve been tossing something back and forth in my mind the last few days, off the back of the emotional shitstorm that was Monday, and the disappointment that followed on Tuesday. Both days I was floored, utterly and completely, and no use to anyone.
My life is busy. Really, really busy. I have young kids, I work, I’m struggling with the same financial woes as a significant number of my generation, and like everyone else, have the odd crisis to contend with. I also think quite a lot, and over the last couple of days, have started to come to the realisation that it’s entirely possible that I in fact, think far too much.
Since Christmas, therapy has not been productive for me, not really. It’s changed, and that change has been painful, upsetting and at times a source of anger and frustration. It’s also become almost an addiction. I want to leave bpd out of this for now, and not talk about traits or triggers or symptoms, but just me. I needed Therapist. I needed her to validate me, to be kind to me, I desperately wanted to elicit any kind of emotional response in her that might indicate that I was in some way special, in some way different from her other clients. The less she gave me of that, the more I craved it, and the more caught up in it all I became. Things as they stand now are unsustainable.
I also wonder if continuing this blog has become a means of prolonging a pain that is no longer warranted. It has helped me no end, and I hope has been of some use to those of you who’ve been reading along the way. But I wonder sometimes if it allows me to indulge more than I should in how I’m feeling, analyse more than I should, maybe even think myself into holes that might otherwise have been avoided.
The last couple of days have seen a fairly epic shift in how I’m thinking. On Monday I was heartbroken, on Tuesday disappointed yet again. In some ways, it all feels a bit tough love, like I’ve been left with no choice but to pick myself up and get on with it. I’m to finish with Therapist soon, and dbt won’t happen till March at the earliest. Honestly, I’ll be surprised if it ever happens at all. The best way I can currently think of to deal with all this, to keep myself going, is to put all of this emotion, upheaval and confusion into a very large box with a very heavy lid, and then nail that lid shut.
I need a break from thinking. I need a break from second guessing myself, analysing everything I say and do, obsessing over Therapist, feeling constantly frustrated at the short comings of our mental health system. I can’t fix it. I don’t want to spend any more time feeling frustrated about that, not right now. It’s entirely possible I’m being very naive in thinking I can just box this off and assume I’ll be able to cope. But I’m finishing work tomorrow for 5 weeks. Next week I fly out to Denmark to spend a week with my two sisters, something that hasn’t happened in well over 10 years. When I come back, I want to just be. No agenda, no big plans, no changing the world. Just be.
|The unholy trinity|
So for the next 5 weeks, it’s likely to be quite quiet around here. If I’m struggling and I need to, I’ll write. Equally, if this turns out to be the best strategy ever, I’ll pop back and let you know. I also want to assure you that this is not (as far as I’m aware!!!) a knee jerk reaction, and I’ve no intention of visiting A&E again any time soon. I just want to take a while to be Fi again. Not Fiona the blogger, Fiona the See Change ambassador, or Fiona the mental health campaigner. Just Fi.
Thanks so much for all the support, advice and listening ears this last two years. You’ve been amazing.