Could You Repeat That? I Wasn't Listening.

Since I deleted all of my prior blog posts in a moment of insecurity, there's really no back story left.  And, I don't particularly feel like inserting one here.  So, to make a long story short let's just say that I had quite a traumatic childhood which led to a slew of psychological problems that I've spent the better portion of my 20's coping with.  And, when that was pretty much done, I assumed the rest of my life would unfold before my eyes, that the red carpet would unroll and lead me to a glamorous and fulfilled life.  And...  It didn't quite work out like that.  Like, not even a little bit.  Something was still wrong.  I was still running myself ragged spinning in circles.  I tried to go back to school but after a semester I was self-destructing again.  My house still looked like it had been ransacked by burglars.  The relationships I had been so excited about building were stagnant.

And, I discovered the one major drawback to psychotherapy.  You view every negative behavior as stemming from your unconscious.  You analyze yourself over and over again trying to find that buried negative feeling that's poisoning your psyche.  You assume that all your problems are psychological.  You dig deep, looking for any hint of damage that could explain your behavior.  I couldn't find anything.  I really felt certain that I had come to terms with those things that used to haunt me.  Instead of looking for another explanation, I started getting paranoid that I had repressed memories.  So, I went back to therapy to uncover what I was hiding from myself.  But, it wasn't helping.  We weren't getting anywhere.  I assumed that I had closed myself off and was refusing to allow anyone to help me.  It was hopeless.  My life wasn't going to ever be any different than this because I was too broken to fix myself.  I became depressed, which made all of my problems seem even bigger.  The circles I was spinning in became ruts.  My house was starting to look like it could be on an episode of Hoarders and my stagnant relationships were becoming non-existent.  This is what my life was going to be like.  I just had to accept it and move on.

And, that's when we had a breakthrough in therapy.  We were having a particularly bad session.  I had decided in our last session that I was never coming back, but I had not been able to muster up the energy to cancel our next appointment.  Since I was going to be charged if I didn't show up, I decided to just go.  I mean, it couldn't really get any worse...  He was asking me why I wasn't doing my homework or going to bed on time and I kept saying, "I don't know."  And, he kept grilling me.  I was starting to get pissed off.  And I was sort of yelling when I told him that I really wanted to finish the things I was failing to accomplish, but I just wasn't able to.  It was like a scene that repeated itself over and over again in my childhood.  My parents came home, and my chores weren't done.  And, because this happened pretty much every single time they came home, they were red-faced when they asked me why my chores weren't done.  "I don't know."  I could tell by the wide eyes and shaking hands that I had just written myself a death sentence.  It always played out the same way.  I wanted to be good.  I wanted to make my parents proud.  And, I failed, over and over again.  I was rebellious and lazy.  I was wasting my talents.  These episodes, which happened all the time, cut a little bit deeper every single time.  I really did intend to do what they asked me.  I would just get distracted and either forget about something altogether or put it off indefinitely, saying to myself, "there's plenty of time."  Well, time is a slippery little bugger.  It always slips away at the last second, and I find myself empty-handed and ashamed.  Eventually, I started to both resent my parents and believe the things they said to me when they were angry.

So, I'm sitting on my therapist's couch getting increasingly angry over this line of questioning because it's hitting a little too close to home.  And, he puts down his clipboard and says, "It sounds like ADD to me."  I had been expecting to see a concerned look on his face while I received a speech about how I would never get what I wanted out of life if I wasn't willing to work for it.  I had NOT been expecting that.  I don't think I realized how significant that moment was.  I just sort of cocked my head to the side and said in a mocking/disbelieving tone, "Really???"  He (quite patiently, I should add) described the disease to me.  He had been diagnosed in his forties, which is why he was able to recognize the symptoms in me.  I left with my head spinning faster than it normally does.  It made sense. It took a while to get into a specialist and receive an official diagnosis.  During that waiting period, I kept dreaming that the psychiatrist told me I didn't have a disease, I was just lazy.  I experienced a very interesting mix of hope and apprehension waiting for that appointment.  And, at the end of our first 45 minute meeting, she confirmed the diagnosis.  It was official.  She recommended a couple of books, wrote me a prescription for the first medication we were going to try (150 mg of Wellbutrin XL), and shuffled me out the door.  I burst into tears the moment her office door closed behind me.


Of course, there's a lot more to treatment than that.  Perhaps I'll get into it later.

At the moment, though, I'm experiencing a very new and fabulous sensation.  I feel hopeful.  I feel like I really can do anything.  It finally seems like every step I take is leading me down a path that doesn't end exactly where it started.  I'm excited to see what happens.

For anyone curious about this neurological disease that is more prevalent in the US than any other country, I highly recommend this very awesome and easy to read book.

The Cinderella Complex

The other night, I came through and deleted all of my old blog posts.  Naturally, I seriously regret this.  I started this blog to help map my path toward self-discovery and mental clarity.  And, I did what I do best, I just decided to start all over again.  Ah, well, it's gone now.  Time to start over, I suppose.  If anyone has any nifty ways to recover deleted blog posts, I'd be happy to hear them...


I find myself, once again, repeating the same tried and true cycles of refusing to take responsibility for my life and stop running in circles.  I haven't been to class in, oh, a month or so.  I did so well over the summer.  What could have possibly happened during the two week break between semesters?  I have been trying to figure this out.  I have a lot of spare time when I'm not in class or doing my homework.  I've just been running in circles in my head.  It's hard to see the truth.  But, I think I've finally stumbled upon something.  


I've decided to start therapy like it's my job again.  I even found a guy who is not only a therapist but a life coach.  I'm thinking this might be helpful because I was considering selling a bunch of stuff and paying a psychic every penny I had to tell me what to do with my life.  We shall see...  He asked me one question in particular that got me thinking.  What do you feel in control of?  Would you believe that I had a hard time answering this?  And, then, I started thinking about all the ways in which I attempt to relinquish all control.  It's sort of my motto.  Relinquish control.  Believe in the Universe.  This all sounds very poetic, but I don't think it means what I think it means.  The idea of relinquishing control is the idea of giving into the fact that the future is unknown.  This planet we're spinning around on is more of a mystery than anything.  All we can do is live right now and trust that everything will work itself out.  That's what I think of when I say relinquish control.  But, that's not what I'm doing.  Instead of accepting that my future is not written and there is no way of knowing what it could possibly look like, I'm giving up on right now and throwing myself into a proverbial river hoping it will carry me to my predestined future.  I'm doing the exact opposite of what I'm preaching.  It would seem that the last thing I want to be true is the fact that I don't have a fully mapped out destiny.  That would mean that I might be forced to accept responsibility for my own life.  Good lord, help us all!


So, a lot of writing and a google search (refusal to accept responsibility of control, psychology) later, I came up with a few options.  First, I did some reading about narcissism.  I fit the bill in a lot of ways (elaborately constructed fantasy world, spends lots of time alone, blames others for dysfunctional relationships), but I'm not a total emotional cripple.  I do actually love and trust people.  Just not a whole lot of them. --I should take an aside here and mention that I'm a little bit obsessed with diagnosing myself.  Ever since my first day of therapy, I've been looking for a title to give myself.  I think I must believe that if I give it a name, I can more easily cure it.  Or this may be more of my inability to accept the fact that a lot of things are just fucking vague...--  So, yes, I have narcissistic tendencies but that doesn't really seem to be the lot of it.  Then, I do a little research on victim psychology.  I do like to blame my parents for my neuroses, but it doesn't really fit the bill either.  And, then, I stumbled on this glorious term: The Cinderella Complex.  Check out the link.  It's pretty interesting.


http://www.womens-wellbeing-and-mental-health.com/the-cinderella-complex.html

If only Prince Charming had a beard!

It goes back to something I said in therapy, "I would fall in love, and then everything would magically work itself out."  Here's a cycle that I recognize.  This would really tie in well with the blog about how dating is just like calculus.  Oh, yes, I deleted that in a moment of shame.  Anyway...  I talked a bit about how I become disillusioned, move, become disillusioned, move...  And on and on it goes from Louisville to Nashville and back again.  But, it's a little bit deeper than that.  I must admit that every time I move, I get this idea in my head that I'm going to meet my prince.  And, when I meet someone and it doesn't work out, that's when the disillusionment thing starts.  It has always started after a failed relationship.  Except for this summer.  It started with a hateful tarot reading.  Which brings me to the Existential Crisis Summer 2011 (I will be getting an airbrushed t-shirt).


I convinced myself, as I always do, that I would fall in love when I moved here.  At this point I would have to say that what this looks like in my head is a whole lot of some poor guy nursing this wounded stray little kitten back to health with unconditional love and apparently an endless supply of resources (economic and emotional).  And, then, the future is all bright and shiny and happy.  And, it ends right there.  It in no way, shape, or form involves me as an independent and strong woman entering into a relationship with an equal.  It involves me being nurtured and then all of my worries magically slipping away.  Funny, this fantasy future is even more vague than my real life future that I'm so terrified of.  At any rate, it didn't look like it was going to happen in this calendar year, so I went to get a tarot reading and suss out what was going wrong.  Well, my reading went horribly awry and instead of promising me a bright and shiny future with, well, Jesus as a husband, I was told that I was posturing like I wanted to be alone.  And, I was going to end up alone!  This did not sit well with me at all, partially because it struck a chord whose melody makes me squirm.  And, this spiraled me into the disillusioned with my current circumstances cycle.  Yet again.  This is not the best way to start a semester, I might add.


So, here's the current duality at play, which I believe is a very large part of my inability to be successful.  First, I have an incredible intellectual curiosity and a sincere desire to understand the mechanics of the world better.  This naturally leads me to academia.  And, then, I have this deep-seeded desire to be rescued from the incredibly heavy weight of being responsible for my future and happiness by a man.  But, I know this isn't what I really want.  Every time the opportunity presents itself, I flee.  And, instead of dating anyone that might actually be 'relationship material,' I spend my time chasing after commitment phobic man children.  So, I'm sabotaging my rescue scenario before it even has a chance to play itself out.  And, I'm sabotaging my self-reliant, well-educated future because what I secretly want is to be rescued.  Why did I delete my blog posts?  Honestly, in the back of my mind, I was thinking that someone might consider me undateable if they read them.  Dear, me.  It's a good thing I love myself.  Because I sure do wear myself out.  And, the Prince Charming in this story is going to have to be me.  Clearly, I am very dashing.  But, I have no idea how to ride a horse or how to sword fight.