Please Identify Yourself
"Why can't you just move on and let it go,"? was the most familiar chant.
"It happened over 50 years ago, it can't be undone." "Deal with it".
In all honesty this had been my mantra my entire life, but these sessions with TGD unleashed 50+ years of sadness that seemed to me, was going to take another 50+ years to rid.
"Why do you think your friends are so impatient with your therapy,"? TGD said, after listening to me whine about my life and my friend's time frame ideas about therapy
How could TGD sit and listen to this stuff hour after hour? I couldn't stand to hear myself talk, week after week. I couldn't do this job for love or money. What kind of person can do this exhausting work day after day, hour after hour? Didn't it make them crazy, sad or just want to give up?
"Don't know," I said. "They just seem to be poking at me all the time."
"Describe poking," TGD said. Was every fucking word going to be analyzed? I just told TGD what they said. Why was any further interpreting needed?
"It's like they're looking for answers I don't have and keep asking the same question in different ways and won't let up"
"I'm not saying you're wrong with the way you feel about this, but just for a moment I'd like you to think about when you were a child and try and remember when your brother or mother, as you describe, "poked" you. Can you do that for me?"
"My friends have NOTHING to do with my mother or brother. They are complete opposites," I barked back.
"Is it possible that this "poking" you are describing is a very real love and concern your friends have for you"?
"All I hear is their dissatisfaction and disapproval with my therapy process," I answered as I cried. "And what does that remind you of." "Who in your life were you always seeking approval from and never got," TGD softly said.
Dear sweet Jesus. Classic therapy bullshit. This woman knew how to get to me. Was I that easy?
"Yeh, fine," I said. "I suppose my mother and brother."
"But these friends ARE not your mother and brother, TGD continued. "Is it possible that these words are just feelings of how you were mistreated as a child, and that what is actually happening is that you are going back and these are just memories and not what is presently happening."
Now it seemed I was unable to decipher whether or not I was reacting to family bullshit or friends.
I didn't want to talk about this subject anymore. I didn't have any answers. Talk about poking. This was the Olympics of Poking. WTF????? Was TGD as pissed as I was? This was one pain in the ass ordeal.
I felt like I was in one of those movies where a prisioner of war was caged and the enemies would come by and ram sticks through the cages to try and jab the prisoners. Good luck getting out of the way.
I thought there would be some relief in therapy, instead it became another war, another method of survival I would have to manuver.
Even sitting there I was craving my isolation as I did as a child.
"Everybody leave me alone," I wanted to scream. But no one could or would hear.
I was invisible to everyone except for the poking and beatings.
For some bizarro reason I was suddenly thrown back to a time where I was 8 and would sometimes take the bus to downtown New Haven. I remember like it was yesterday. I was wearing a gray sweatshirt with a blue v neck collar and my I had just had my haircut from Johnny the Barber. Hair cut so short I looked like a little boy.
As I got on the bus and threw my nickel in the money changer, the bus driver looked at me, and loudly said, "hey kid, are you a boy or a girl," and then gave a big belly laugh as the others on the bus joined in.
I remember the faces of the people seated on the bus laughing, as I walked in shame to the rear of the bus.
Jab, jab, jab.
A circus act. Half girl-half boy.
Stick me in the cage with the tigers and lions and jab sticks at them too.
No identity to anyone except for the jabs and the pokes.
Isolation is so much safer.
God damn therapy and TGD.