Aftershocks

After the quake comes the aftershocks. They happen in the same place as the original shock and are caused by the displacement effects of the initial trauma. And, whilst most aftershocks are smaller than the mainshock, they can still be damaging or deadly.

And so, it would seem, has happened here (in my head I mean).

7 days on from the 40 minute sobbing session I sat in the same room following a week of near ‘normality’. The Great Head Fuck Challenge (TGHFC) had paused whilst players had a comfort break and made a cuppa.

Not to say that I wasn’t, on some level, contemplating my next move but that hiatus was lovely.

I got dressed up, went on a night out and enjoyed myself, I spent the weekend in London with my lovely mum and watched my favourite show in the world starring my two favourite vocalists. I dealt with the tinge of sadness about the lost friend I hoped to share this with one day. I dealt with it like a NORMAL person. Oh, that brew was lovely.

Alas, by the end of the Monday I was back at the THHFC board, refreshed but heavy hearted that the game wasn’t over.

The first tremor came after a day at work slogging over endless copywriting tasks, each with little meaning or benefit to the recipient. For a lover of words and language it’s a bit like a curator watching an assault on treasured artefacts. Words should have purpose, should create emotion and response. Functional words, which have been the bread and butter of my career for over 15 years, feel so empty these days. Hero therapist suggests that the effects of therapy can be that people we are no longer happy to settle for things which we once did. I’ll probably keep this quandary quiet in the office just for now.

So there I was now 7 days on from the catharsis of a good cry, 7 days on from the connection I felt as I let myself be vulnerable in front of a safe person. And this time no tears, just rage.

I say rage over anger because it was a violent rage inside and it was all directed at myself. I couldn’t cope with the pause in play, with the stability.

I was feeling incredibly cross about the returning self destructive urges that were surging, about a couple of upcoming scenarios I was facing that I had told myself I either couldn’t cope with or that the way I wanted to respond said terrible things about me. And, as I sat in that safe room again I was too angry to let myself get the help I needed to stabilize my town ahead of the obviously approaching aftershock.

I shut down again and watched the clock count down.

And off I went around the board again. I rolled pretty much the same set of number from the last time, went to the same places (both internally and geographically) and danced with the possibility of throwing in the towel.

And we ended up with same scenario – urgent messages telling me to get in touch. Me, yet again, testing the patience and care of super therapy dude.

The aftershock of the psychiatrist threw itself in the mix making my response to him further complicated. I wanted and needed help yet I was battling with the fear of over dependence. How dependent am I really he enquired in one of email exchanges today. And it’s a toughie - I am just not used to the feeling that I have someone who I am prepared to lean on. It is uncomfortable and I don’t understand the boundaries well. I feel like a kid in a sweet shop. Once I’m there I’m so desperate for it all I just keep wanting more and more. Despite the plethora of wonderful kind, loving and supportive people I have in my life I have never allowed myself to need things from them, never allowed myself to accept comfort. I have no frame of reference for how to behave when I start the process of letting that in and so I am constantly between 2 extremes. On the one hand I want and need all the care but on the other I am compelled to reject it and run away because I am certain I do not deserve it, am not worthy of it. It feels wrong and I am anxious in the extreme about the possibility of messing up and losing what is on offer.

In the end we exchanged a couple of worried/fractious/curt text messages later in the evening in which I confirmed I was headed home but admitted I’d not done a good job of looking after myself up to that point. I swallowed a lump of guilt for clearly causing a dent of worry and additional effort into his evening and well outside of his working hours. Anyone say boundaries?!

Today we’ve emailed. He’s explained his position and I’ve carried on apologising. I suspect right now he may well be lamenting the day I set foot in his office the first time. I doubt that my wonderfully witty dry humour and shared dislike of modern politics and turkey drummers will be enough to raise me above the lower rungs of the preferred client list today.

A, probably overdue, warning has been issued. “things do need to change” I’ve been told. Which is fair, they do. I can’t keep circling like this. I need to pick up the hard cards and complete the difficult sections of the board or else one day my risky game play will see my playing piece being removed from the challenge altogether.

And where am I now? Where am I up to as my therapy champ would ask?

I’m safer inside, I’ve processed it but I’m bloody scared.

So I guess it’s time to take my seat and join the game properly. I’m just hoping that my fellow player hasn’t given up and retreated just yet.