1.
I don't read enough.
I don't know when it went from something fun - the height of luxury was staying in bed all day with a pile of books - to something to be avoided. But that's where I am.
2.
I have to see Therapy Lady tomorrow. I want to confront her about last week, but I go quiet when I get angry. I wish I were one of those people who could express exactly what they're feeling as they're feeling it, instead of having to step back and think it through.
3.
I appreciate the people I live with, and thinking about that - the fact that I didn't know anything about them before the day we all moved in together, I feel very fortunate.
4.
I am envious of Paul Auster's words.
5.
You can't have an emotion without a thought, even if you're not aware of the thought, she says.
But if you're not conscious of a thought, is it actually a thought?
I don't know if that's true. I feel things all the time without thoughts attached to them. I feel things that contradict my thoughts.
Maybe that's the problem with this scenario. She doesn't understand the separation of thought and feeling.
Also: I don't trust her.
It also became clear in the exercise that I can't differentiate between physical sensation and emotion. Aside from the basics, like anger, I had to keep asking if something was an emotion.
She didn't notice I struggled with that.
This is a waste of my time.
6.
There are days - the good days - when I think, this is all just in my head. I'm imagining the problem, that there is a problem. And all this other stuff - the meds, the appointments - it's just playing into that. I'd be totally fine without it. I'd be better without it.
7.
The crux of my problem with the NHS is they keep asking me what's wrong with me and how to treat it, and it's like, well if I knew that, I wouldn't need you, would I?
That, and that everyone has to go through the system in the same order, regardless of how many times they've done it before, or how useless it is for them.
Like, seeing a counselor 8 times is going to be no help to someone with a long term anxiety disorder. But they send me to them over and over, and then they decide they can't help me but need permission to send me on to someone who might be able to. And if they don't get permission?
So often I just get fed up and discouraged and stop pursuing it. Who does that help?
Where are the diagnosticians?
The more I think about it, the more I realize the only benefit of the NHS system is affordable medication (and even that is beginning to get tight as they keep adding things to the list). There is no care, as such. There is no relationship with my doctors, not trust that they know what's best, or even listen to me. There is no trust that someone with the knowledge and experience is keeping it all on track and making sure I get what I need.
Well, there is, but that's just luck of the draw. The fact is, if my parents didn't have the skills that they do, I would be royally fucked.
And that's a seriously flawed system.
I shouldn't be relying on my mother for therapy, or my dad for medical advice. That's the doctors' job.
8.
I worry that people don't know I'm enjoying myself when I am.
I'm not very expressive.
There's a concrete worry for the Therapy Lady.
But then she'd say, how do you change that?
I don't know. You can't. Not something like that.
You could fake it (sometimes I do, but it's obviously faked expressiveness, and usually at the demand of someone else). But then you have to know when it's expected of you.
And there's the problem.
Maybe I should wear signs and switch them out as appropriate. Happy, sad, sleepy...
9.
Language.
Or the lack thereof.
My thoughts aren't actually thoughts in the way people normally think about them, or at least what I've come to understand about the way people normally think. My thoughts are... experiences. Things come with colours or textures. Feelings. Sometimes a picture. Sometimes all of the above.
It takes time to translate, and sometimes there just isn't any verbal equivalent so it takes... awhile. And I have this thing stirring in my head that I'm completely incapable of communicating to anyone else for weeks, months. They'll pile up until I'm afraid I'll start losing track of them all. And that's where the panic comes in. That I'll be stuck holding all these things in without ever being able to get them out just the way they should be.
It's the only time those breathing exercises actually work, because of the conscious mind is putting all its attention on what the lungs are doing, it's not going to give a shit what the subconscious mind is up to.
10.
Leonard Nimoy gave me a character I could identify with who wasn't a murderer or obnoxious or cruel or just a total ass.
It's strange missing someone you never even met.
I don't read enough.
I don't know when it went from something fun - the height of luxury was staying in bed all day with a pile of books - to something to be avoided. But that's where I am.
2.
I have to see Therapy Lady tomorrow. I want to confront her about last week, but I go quiet when I get angry. I wish I were one of those people who could express exactly what they're feeling as they're feeling it, instead of having to step back and think it through.
3.
I appreciate the people I live with, and thinking about that - the fact that I didn't know anything about them before the day we all moved in together, I feel very fortunate.
4.
I am envious of Paul Auster's words.
5.
You can't have an emotion without a thought, even if you're not aware of the thought, she says.
But if you're not conscious of a thought, is it actually a thought?
I don't know if that's true. I feel things all the time without thoughts attached to them. I feel things that contradict my thoughts.
Maybe that's the problem with this scenario. She doesn't understand the separation of thought and feeling.
Also: I don't trust her.
It also became clear in the exercise that I can't differentiate between physical sensation and emotion. Aside from the basics, like anger, I had to keep asking if something was an emotion.
She didn't notice I struggled with that.
This is a waste of my time.
6.
There are days - the good days - when I think, this is all just in my head. I'm imagining the problem, that there is a problem. And all this other stuff - the meds, the appointments - it's just playing into that. I'd be totally fine without it. I'd be better without it.
7.
The crux of my problem with the NHS is they keep asking me what's wrong with me and how to treat it, and it's like, well if I knew that, I wouldn't need you, would I?
That, and that everyone has to go through the system in the same order, regardless of how many times they've done it before, or how useless it is for them.
Like, seeing a counselor 8 times is going to be no help to someone with a long term anxiety disorder. But they send me to them over and over, and then they decide they can't help me but need permission to send me on to someone who might be able to. And if they don't get permission?
So often I just get fed up and discouraged and stop pursuing it. Who does that help?
Where are the diagnosticians?
The more I think about it, the more I realize the only benefit of the NHS system is affordable medication (and even that is beginning to get tight as they keep adding things to the list). There is no care, as such. There is no relationship with my doctors, not trust that they know what's best, or even listen to me. There is no trust that someone with the knowledge and experience is keeping it all on track and making sure I get what I need.
Well, there is, but that's just luck of the draw. The fact is, if my parents didn't have the skills that they do, I would be royally fucked.
And that's a seriously flawed system.
I shouldn't be relying on my mother for therapy, or my dad for medical advice. That's the doctors' job.
8.
I worry that people don't know I'm enjoying myself when I am.
I'm not very expressive.
There's a concrete worry for the Therapy Lady.
But then she'd say, how do you change that?
I don't know. You can't. Not something like that.
You could fake it (sometimes I do, but it's obviously faked expressiveness, and usually at the demand of someone else). But then you have to know when it's expected of you.
And there's the problem.
Maybe I should wear signs and switch them out as appropriate. Happy, sad, sleepy...
9.
Language.
Or the lack thereof.
My thoughts aren't actually thoughts in the way people normally think about them, or at least what I've come to understand about the way people normally think. My thoughts are... experiences. Things come with colours or textures. Feelings. Sometimes a picture. Sometimes all of the above.
It takes time to translate, and sometimes there just isn't any verbal equivalent so it takes... awhile. And I have this thing stirring in my head that I'm completely incapable of communicating to anyone else for weeks, months. They'll pile up until I'm afraid I'll start losing track of them all. And that's where the panic comes in. That I'll be stuck holding all these things in without ever being able to get them out just the way they should be.
It's the only time those breathing exercises actually work, because of the conscious mind is putting all its attention on what the lungs are doing, it's not going to give a shit what the subconscious mind is up to.
10.
Leonard Nimoy gave me a character I could identify with who wasn't a murderer or obnoxious or cruel or just a total ass.
It's strange missing someone you never even met.
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