Monday Monday

Well Folks, here I am again.....

Another Monday over and done with (thankfully). Goodness knows what is wrong with my colleagues....men...they make such mountains out of molehills!!!! Our Director of Interior Design got his knickers in a twist over a blockwork wall setting out drawing (because he didn't know what he was doing and thought he was actually going to have to do some intellectual work himself for once) and my second-in-command was making it out to be some massive, complicated exercise that would take weeks and weeks to resolve (in the way that men do do that - have you ever noticed? [sorry guys, but you do]).....so I took the task off them, as they were winding themselves up into high-pitched hysteria (never work with male designers - they can be SO precious!!!) and did it there and then.....it took all of TEN WHOLE MINUTES!! I mean - how hard can it be to tell a builder where to put a wall??? Forgive me for sounding arrogant here - I confess, I am not the most technically adept Architect on the planet - but I do know how to give a dimension from a column to the outside face of a wall so the builder can build it!!! That 15 years training before qualifying wasn't all for nothing, you know.....

So, yes....it's been one of those days....

I didn't get out on my bike in the end this weekend....but I did get out of the house, and that is the important thing I guess....

There is the most amazing sunset outside my study window tonight - really vivid pink - and all I can hear is the sound of the birds singing before they go to sleep. When I hear that sound, I wonder why everything else in the world is so awful....

I went to see my therapist again tonight....it was not a good session.....it wasn't a bad one either....it was just....well, I dunno....

I walked in the room and she gave me a big hug....we sat chatting for a while and I just talked about nothing - my best friend's boyfriend, what I had done over the weekend (omitting all the bad bits)....I was so annoyed with myself. I had promised myself that we would pick up where we left off on Friday, but I just kept talking about anything but....I told her this and she said, "Well stop it then!". Hmmm....She looked angry with me; I don't think she was really, but to me it felt like she might be. Then - for some bizarre reason - I started talking about my Mother's death and how I had remembered on Saturday morning that the day my Mother died, my father had told me that he had told the doctor to give her an overdose 'to end things quickly'. I don't know why I hadn't made the connection before: my Mom was perfectly alright 12 hours before (well, ok, she was terminally ill, but you know what I mean....) and then all of a sudden, she just went. Obviously, it was the o/d that had caused her rapid demise; the o/d that my father had approved. When I told my therapist this, I completely froze. She reached out to me and took my hand, but I felt nothing. I did that thing again whereby I suddenly realise my face is all wet and that I must have been crying, but I have no idea where the tears came from or how they got there. She asked me if I wanted a tissue, but I declined because I did not want her to get up to get one thereby leaving me on my own. Then I just wanted her to hug me and hold me safe. So I moved closer to her on the couch and she lifted her arm and I lay with my head on her chest. She held me tightly and buried her face in my hair again; this time, I didn't want sexual love from her, I wanted her to hold me like a guardian and to comfort me. I felt strangely detached from her though - I can't quite describe it. I felt all sleepy and exhausted and unable to speak, so I just lay there with her holding me; I could hear the sound of the birds through the open window and tried to focus on the calm environment I was in. I said I couldn't talk to her; she told me to just say whatever was on my mind; I couldn't. The only thing that would come out was, "Do you think I am going to die soon?" She said, "Do you want to?" and I said, "I dunno". That was all that would come out.

I wanted to talk to her about what we had begun to discuss at the end of Friday's session - about how the affair I had had 15 years ago with my female ex-school teacher had sexualised my feelings...the feelings I had of wanting to find a mother-figure. I had found a mother-figure in the ex-school teacher (or so I thought), but she had abused this trust and seduced me. I wanted to discuss with my therapist about my confusion with regards to my feelings for her - one minute I want her to hold me like a baby and comfort me, the next minute I want to...well...let's not go there. But it just wouldn't come out - it didn't feel right. I tried to tell her how fortunate I thought I was because I had a therapist who was loving and caring and knew how to show it physically whilst maintaining absolutely clear boundaries that made everything feel very safe and secure. What I was trying to say was that her actions/intentions are always clear and that I never sit there having to go through the agony of wondering how to interpret her behaviour (does she fancy me? is she trying to seduce me? etc). There is something very reassuring in the fact that no matter how many times or how much I swing from one feeling to the next, she always stays perfectly still, totally committed, yet very much physically and mentally there with me. Thank goodness she is so straightforward. I, however, am not *sigh*.

Anyway....it all came out wrong and I don't think she understood what I was saying (or maybe she did and I just thought she didn't) and then I just felt really awkward. Then it was the end of the session and time for me to go. Boy did I drag my heels!! I normally try to be really good about end-of-sessions, but I was dreadful tonight....I really didn't want to go. I told her how disappointed I was in that I hadn't talked about what I thought I had wanted to talk about (not that I go in with a pre-determined agenda, but....) and she said, "It will come out, when it's ready". I guess it will *sigh*.

I think I just felt stupid. I couldn't feel the sexual feelings, so I couldn't talk about them - like it wasn't real; I had imagined it; I had made it up even. But I know this is not true...it is there, but for some reason, all of a sudden, it wasn't tonight and I am wondering now whether it will ever come back....?

It is like that though - sometimes it is there, and then it goes away....for ages sometimes.....but it has always come back. In a way, I feel a bit lost without it. I wonder what is wrong with my life that I seem to need it there....

I feel angry with my therapist - I don't know why; I guess it is not her fault. She certainly does nothing to make me feel like this anyway.

I guess it is me then.

Anyway, it is late and I have a busy day tomorrow.....

I leave you folks with my very best wishes and a picture I took last night outside our house (shown at top of post); it makes our world seem such a small place I think. [For those of you into photography, it was taken in RAW format with a Canon EOS 40D + 70-300mm IS USM lens @ 300mm; ISO 800 1/40sec at f5.6].

Night night

Anne

Life's Hard Sometimes - Even on a Saturday

Evening All

Well here we are in my favourite day of the week - Saturday. I sat and listened to my fave radio show this morning: Rick Wakeman's Saturday morning show Rick's Place on Planet Rock Radio. If you've not heard it, you should give it a go, either on DAB radio or Sky here in the UK, or at www.planetrock.com if you're overseas.

I feel like rubbish and wish I didn't, as it's a Saturday. I thought of going out with my camera today, but it's cold and grey out there, so I have just sat and moped in my study. I did a little more on my current model kit - a small helicopter, but I couldn't really be bothered to do the last bits to finish it.

My session with Christine last night was a rather unproductive one until right close to the end. It was my fault - I just talked about rubbish to avoid talking about deeper stuff. She knew I was doing this and tried to swing the conversation back round to a letter I said I had written to her the night before (but had not yet given her). I had it with me in the session and she spotted it in my bag, so there was no getting away from it.

So for 35 minutes, we just talked rubbish, or rather I did, until eventually she persuaded me to read the letter to her. So I turned to lie with my head on her shoulder and my left arm behind her. I needed that closeness to know that everything would be 'ok'. I needed to be able to detect too whether there was any negative reaction in her. For some reason, I thought that if I lay close to her I would be able to feel this more readily; I am not sure that is really the case.

I started to read from the letter - the first paragraph was just describing a bicycle ride I had done the previous evening - I love talking to her about nature, as it makes me feel so close to her. When she is not there and I am missing her, I often go for walks or cycle and that makes me feel close to her again. I guess that's a bit daft, but for me it works.

After much waffle about rabbits, birds and hedgerows, we finally got to the bit in the letter that was really the issue. It was just one random line and it said:

I was thinking it's hard sometimes loving someone who does not love you.

Then the letter abruptly ended.

I went very quiet and immediately felt uncomfortable and rejected. Christine held me close to her and buried her face in my hair. She said that she didn't distinguish feelings in and out of sessions, that they were one and the same; she said she wouldn't sign her emails with love if she didn't mean it. She said that although her feelings were slightly different to mine, they were still there and they were still real. I think she was telling me she loved me (in a non-sexual way). She might as well have told me that the moon was made of green cheese for all that I believed her and was bothered about.

That is mad. My therapist (whom I love dearly) tells me she loves me and all I am bothered about is the fact that she doesn't want me sexually. How stupid is that? Not only that, but deep down I didn't believe her when she said she loved me; it cut no ice, as it were. She is an honest and truthful woman and has never, ever lied to me - even when the truth has been really difficult, she has never shied away from it and has handled it with the up most sincerity and care. So why do I not believe her? I feel so bad - I mean some patients would kill to have their therapists tell them that/feel like that and all I am bothered about is that she doesn't want to make love to me. What is wrong with me? I asked her. It was a tri-fold question; what it meant was not only What is wrong with me that I won't believe that you love me? but also What is wrong with me to make me feel like this about you? and also - perhaps most importantly - What is wrong with me that you don't love me/want me in the way that I want/love you?

Deep down, I think I know she loves me. As I write over the coming weeks, you will come to see that the way she is and the time she gives/what she does shows this quite clearly. I am sure I am not loved exclusively - I think she probably feels like that about quite a few of her clients, as she is a very caring/loving person - although I prefer not to think about her other clients and won't dwell on it as I think it is counter-productive to. I am also sensible enough (just about!) to know that a relationship with her would be a very bad idea indeed; in fact, I am not sure that that is what I really want anyway. I love my girlfriend - she is wonderful and goodness knows why she puts up with me - and I would never want anything to jeopardise that relationship. Added to this, Christine is 20 years older than me and, I am pretty sure, would not live up to the Christine in my fantasies. Added to this, there is a certain security/comfort in that fantasy remaining just that - as then it can never disappoint, if you know what I mean?

But hearing last night that she does not love me/want me in the same way is so final and makes me feel so utterly rejected. I cut my arm last night - not badly, just a few small, pathetic scratches. I did this because of the feelings of inadequacy inside me the What is wrong with me that she does not want me? feelings. I told her of this in my email to her last night (we email each other most days) and this morning, she replied saying:

I can feel the strong feelings surging under your skin -
perhaps the marking of your skin was an attempt to get to them but they are
numbed as another aspect of you observes yourself in a rather clinically
detached way; as your thinking collapses into a gooey mess.

I am not sure what I feel now. Part of me wants to run to her like a child and have her hold me close to her and to accept the motherly love that she offers; the other half just wants to hide in the corner, push her away and cry and hurt myself. This weekend, she has gone to her weekend place in Suffolk (she does about every other weekend). I hate it when she goes away at weekends. It's stupid because what difference does it really make? I don't see her over weekends anyway, so why should it feel any worse wherever she is? I think she feels so far away when she goes there. Added to this, she said that next weekend she would be away, but not in Suffolk; she said she had to go somewhere else. This made me feel very uneasy - like where is she going? Honestly, sometimes I feel like a stalker!!! I'm not, by the way - but it feels like I am completely obsessed at times. I guess I am in a way. That makes me feel dirty and stupid and weird - like some kind of pervert. But I'm not though - it's just that not knowing where she is freaks me out. I guess when she is at home over the weekend, it feels better because she is not far away and I can picture where she is (she sees her clients at home). I have been to the town in Suffolk where her weekend place is, but that does not seem to make it any easier.

I sent her a text earlier, saying I didn't feel too good, but she hasn't replied yet. I know she will when she gets a chance - this is progress, as some while ago her non-response would have freaked me out!! So I guess I am improving a bit then....*sigh* She is probably out walking or something - she often does that at weekends. I am wondering now where she is grrrr!!!!

Blimey - do I sound like a woman possessed or what??? For those of you reading this who have never been in therapy, it is very hard for you to understand how it makes you feel and how the patient/therapist relationship is I guess. Hands up all those though that have been in therapy, or are in therapy, who understand what I a saying/feeling!!!!

Intense though it may seem to the onlooker, it is all part of the goings-on and Christine handles it with great care and very adeptly. Thank goodness. I am very lucky in that respect - there are an awful lot of therapists who don't. I had a dreadful experience about 10 years ago seeing a Cognitive Therapist and a Psychiatrist on the NHS.

The NHS view dependence/transference very negatively and see it as a real problem and something which must be avoided at all costs. This is an absolutely ridiculous approach and solves nothing. As someone on the mentalhelp.net site so accurately put it, the fact is that if you have a person in your life who nurtures you, listens to you and shows you unconditional love, even the hardest person would have feelings of dependence and love towards them before too long!!! So for you readers who have not been through therapy, this is pretty much what it is like. And boy, is it hard sometimes, as you feel like a complete freak!!! The views of the NHS are purely driven by economy - dependence/transference means long-term treatment, if it is to be used effectively and the NHS do not have the money/resources for this. So what do they do? They invent a form of 'therapy' called Cognitive Analytic Therapy, which is supposed to be some sort of one-stop-shop-one-size-fits-all solution to the problem of not being able to provide long term therapy. The trouble is, whilst it can be effective in some ways, it can actually do a lot of damage too. Inevitably (and as in my case) the patient develops a transference towards their therapist (not in all cases, I admit, but I am sure it must be a least 50%) and then the therapy is abruptly terminated, without any exploration - or sometimes even acknowledgement - of the existence of those feelings and the result can be very damaging indeed. In my opinion/experience anyway (and this is just my opinion I might add and not proven in any way).

I am sure I will be telling you more about my experiences of mental health 'care' on the NHS over the coming weeks, so I won't dwell on it now.

Tonight, P and I are off out for a curry with P's ex-g/f and her current partner. I am sure that sounds very odd and incestuous to all you straight folks out there reading this, but lesbians are a very odd bunch!! As the very amusing book Roberts' Rules of Lesbian Break-Ups so accurately describes:

First there is thermonuclear war; then best friends

....meaning that lesbians nearly always end up best friends with their ex's.....I guess you have to when you are in such a small community!!! Pride festivals are otherwise a nightmare as you dodge all your ex's!!! I am on good terms with mine too (except one, who fortunately I haven't seen for a long time!!) and have no issues about P being on good terms with hers - in fact, I think I get on better with P's ex than she does!!! So a nice evening to look forward to, although I am not sure I am up for socialising, but I guess it will do me good.

I do wish Christine would reply to my text. I know she will sometime but....I guess I just wonder where she is....

The weather forecast tomorrow is good - lots of warmth and sunshine - so I think I will push myself to leave the sanctuary of 'my room' (my study) and get out with my camera and my bike. If I take any nice pics, I'll post them for you to see.

I must go and get ready before P's ex and her g/f arrive.

TTFN as they say and best wishes to you all xxx

The Beginning

Well, here we go with my first blog. I am not really sure what to do, what to write, or indeed who would really want to read this, but I thought I would start a blog nonetheless!I guess what has spurred me on is talking to people on mentalhelp.net and the realisation that there are so many people out there who are going through similar experiences - I think I felt the need to reach out and help them. As I am not a mental health professional, I can not offer advice or anything like that, but I thought it might help for people to know that they are not the only ones going through these sort of things. I read that a lot of people were finding it hard to discuss their true feelings with their therapists - I find it hard too, but am lucky to have found a therapist who is so caring, open and understanding, and I thought that if I wrote about my struggles and the outcomes it might give others the strength they need to be able to address their fears. I thought it might help me too, to see my thoughts in black and white.So, I am wondering now where to begin.....I guess I begin by telling you a little bit about myself.....I will try to do this briefly!I am a 36 year old gay woman, living with my partner (who I will call 'P' to protect her anonymity); we have been together for just over 4 years. I work as a Chartered Architect, which can sometimes be very pressurised and stressful and, in many respects, I wish I was doing something else. I believe my job is the cause of most of my angst, as I never really wanted to be an Architect and feel that I am not very good at my job - I only went into the profession because my parents wanted me too - at least that's how I feel. I would really love a job with much lower stress levels and less responsibility and feel that I would be better doing just about anything else, but I am not sure what. Also, it took 15 long years to qualify - which is a lot to throw away...I have one sister ('L') who has two daughters (my nieces); my mother died in August 2006 after a very brief illness and coping with the sudden loss at such a young age (my Mom was 65) has been very difficult, not least because my mother and I had just started to form a loving and deep mother/daughter bond, after 30-odd years of me rejecting her as a result (probably) of the very abusive relationship I had with my father. My father is (arguably) clinically psychopathic. I say 'arguably' because he has never been diagnosed as such, but his behaviour has all the hallmarks: complete inability to empathise with others, manipulative, violent, etc.As an infant/youngster growing up in that environment, I was never allowed to be a real child. My father was determined that both myself and my sister would be geniuses and he used to force us to do things like read from the Daily Telegraph etc in front of guests when we were as young as 18 months, to prove that we were child geniuses. He regularly beat me for speaking out (which, I have to say, only made me more determined to do so!!) and exposed me to pornographic material and ideas from a very, very young age as a way of 'enhancing my education'. There are other things too, which I won't go into now, but in short, he had absolutely no idea how to relate to child, what boundaries/behaviour were appropriate, etc.Added to this, he had an emotional age of about 12 years old (if not younger). He was spiteful and a bully - he would say things to me such as, "It's a pity you're so overweight, as you would otherwise be quite attractive" and [when I got my University degree], "It's a shame you didn't go to a proper University like your sister [who went to Cambridge], as then your degree might be worth something".I grew up in a small suburb of Birmingham, England, in a very claustrophobic environment, where I had little privacy or escape from my family and absolutely no adults I could trust. I was sent to a private school in the centre of Birmingham from the age of 6, so I knew no children in my village, as they all went to the local school, and all my school friends lived all over central Birmingham and nowhere near my house. Added to this, my mother taught at my school and my two GPs were close family friends (one was my sister's Godfather), so boundaries were very confused, and there was no one I could talk to that wouldn't tell my mother what I had said/done. In addition to this, because everyone who knew me knew my parents too, no one wanted to get involved.I thought no one knew what was going on at home, but I found out gradually later in life that a lot of people suspected that something was wrong, but either couldn't get close or didn't want to interfere. My mother was so protective of the family unit and was very adept at sweeping things under the carpet and keeping people at bay. I grew up with so much anger inside me - most of it as a result of my father's behaviour, but some of it directed at my mother for failing to protect me and my sister (who is two year's younger and very passive) for not sticking up to him too. My father and I used to have frequent and very violent fights and he would totally lose control of himself and often beat me until I was practically unconscious and covered in bruises, cuts and red marks. I used to run off to my room and cower under the desk, huddling up against the wall, crying, feeling so sore from all the punches and kicks, slaps and carpet burn where he had dragged me across the floor or down the stairs. I used to feel so much anger and hate for him. Then my mother would come in and tell me that I had to apologise to my father: she would say that I had really upset him and disappointed him and that I had [physically] hurt him. She used to beg me to go and 'say sorry' and I would be escorted to his study, where he would sit in his chair with his back to me, puffing on his pipe, and staring up at the ceiling. I would feel so angry, the bile would be rising in my throat, as my mother prodded me and forced me to say 'sorry'. The word used to nearly choke me. Then my mother would say that I then had to say that I meant it [I didn't of course] and this used to make me feel horrendous. Just writing about it now, all those feelings of anger surge back through me. My father used to just sit there and grunt 'huh'.My Father was a nasty, spiteful man, who had no idea how to be a loving father and was interested only in himself and his needs. He would throw regular, full-on tantrums (about just about anything), in the way that a small child does when they don't get their own way. He would treat my mother appallingly and delighted in belittling her in front of guests etc. We used to cringe when my mother had people round to dinner and my father would throw a massive tantrum because there was no salt on the table or something ridiculous like that. He once threw his dinner across the table at my mother in front of one of my friends - I didn't react as this was 'the norm' for our house - but my friend (Robin) was so shocked, as he had never seen such behaviour in a grown man. Dad was a control freak and was very manipulative - usually by vicious verbal attacks and frequently through violence over which he seemed to have little control. He broke my fingers once when I was 13 and insisted on sitting in the room with me whilst the doctor x-rayed my hand. He sat there in the corner staring at me whilst the doctor asked me how it had happened; he had told me in the car on the way to the hospital that if I said anything they would put me in care. My mother told me that the teachers at school all thought I had put the bandage/splint on my fingers myself as a way of getting attention - I can quite clearly remember her saying, "They don't believe you, you know". I don't know what they didn't believe, as I hadn't told them anything - I had only told them that I had done it by trying to separate frozen slices of bread, which had suddenly come apart and bent one of my fingers back. I was never sure whether her comment was meant to say that 'they won't believe anything I say' [ie. if I was to tell the truth] or whether she was telling me off for giving such a lame (and obviously untrue) reason for the bandage - I was supposed to keep quiet and cover-up what had happened. My father was a secondary school teacher by the way. What a dreadful thought that someone like that might be teaching your children.When he was 48 [and I was 17], he claimed to have had a heart attack (he didn't), although funnily enough the doctors could not find anything wrong with him. He then practically didn't teach again [probably a good thing] for the next 17 years and went off 'sick' [although the education authority's MO refused to pension him off through ill-health - funny that]. So he was one of those teachers that is constantly 'off sick' and costing the state a fortune in supply teachers to cover his absence at the same time as he is paid a full salary. Appalling. So from the age of 48 onwards, he sat on his backside doing nothing, frequently claiming to be 'ill' so my mother would run round after him on her hands and knees. We were not allowed to do anything like go walking etc., as my father was 'too ill' and every time we went out for the day, he would have to 'rest' every two minutes 'on account of his heart'. He then had several more faux heart attacks over the next 15 years and even obtained a disabled badge!! Every time we had a meal together there would be another new thing he was 'not allowed' on account of his heart - this 'thing' would change depending on what my mother had prepared for us to eat (one day it would be Yorkshire Puddings, the next day Pork Pie, etc), but a few days later whatever it was would change and you would find him stuffing his face with it.Then, in March 2006, my mother suddenly got ill. It's a long story, but she developed severe arthritis which lead to Pulmonary Fibrosis (having never smoked in her life). Within a couple of weeks, she was in great pain and severely disabled; within 12 weeks, she was dead. My father had killed her; he had worked her into her grave with worry and stress whilst he sat on his backside being the Prima Donna.Tell me: how do you forgive that?In contrast, my mother was completely different. She had a very bubbly personality and was always enthusiastic about what she did, whether it be work or hobbies. She was a wonderful person - although not a perfect mother [but then who is?] and was loved by so many. She was so caring and giving and had so many friends and did so much for so many people. I miss her so much. Anyone who has not been through such a loss would not understand the gaping hole it leaves behind. Those of you who have experienced this will know what I mean.Gosh, I have written a lot about my father - sorry. At least you can see how close to the surface all the feelings are!Over the course of my writing, you will no doubt get to know me better and know a lot more about me. I hope to be able to write about my feelings and what is going on inside me; I hope to be able to give strength and courage to others who are in a similar situation. I want them to know that they are not the only one and that their feelings are valid and understood.My childhood obviously has had a very profound affect on me as an adult; as I get older, I get more and more aware of how it is affecting me and, in a lot of instances, handicapping me. I went into therapy with a Psychoanalytic Therapist (Christine) 18 months ago, after having seen therapists briefly a couple of times before in my life. This time it is very different though - the previous therapists were Cognitive Therapists for a start and had very different ways of being with me in sessions. This time, I know my commitment is going to be a long one - it feels like Christine and I have so much ground to cover and that - even after 18 months - we have only just started.There has been a real shift/growth in our relationship over the last few months. Back in March, I found the courage to tell her of my true feelings for her. Like a lot of patients, I have developed a deep and very strong erotic transference for my therapist. It is a very 'taboo' area for some - both patients and therapists alike - and something which a lot of people are afraid to discuss (me included!). But I have found great benefit in beginning to share some of these feelings with my therapist - although at times it is very hard. I am lucky that she is so understanding and accepting - she listens to me and holds the feelings for me so that things become more bearable for me. I hope that by writing about my experiences, I will be able to help others in similar situations and also help those who have no experience of mental health problems understand the issues and break down the barriers and misunderstanding that surround mental illness.In many ways, I am an open person, but there is a part of me deep inside that hides my true feelings - even to myself. By writing under a pseudonym like this, I hope it will allow me to begin to explore some of what is inside. I intend to discuss this with my therapist, and may even at some point direct her to my blog, but we shall see on that one, as there may be more benefit in me just discussing the issues with her face-to-face, rather than hiding behind the sanctuary of an anonymous weblog.I intend the writing to be a casual account of my day-to-day experiences of my life, both in and out of therapy, and hope that at times it will be amusing and make people smile!! In real-life, I am a cheerful, friendly, caring person - a 'people person' you might say - who enjoys sharing and helping/caring for people. In fact, I feel I don't do enough of this!! I will break from this post now, as I think I have said enough for now, but I will write more later.Best wishes to you all.