Therapy, session 3

This week's therapy session took a turn from previous topics. This week, we talked mainly about sex. That's one topic that I'm just not going to cover here; I don't want to share it, and I'm sure you don't want to read about it.

In other topics, an interesting thing I have noticed about Janine (the therapist) is that she files away every little thing I say, no matter how minute, and is ready to wield it at any time. For example, when I first sat down for Monday's session, I mentioned that parking at her office is tricky - it's street parking only, and that part of Santa Monica is very busy. I've had trouble finding a spot each time I'm there. Well. About a half an hour into the session, she whipped that back out at me as an example of something-or-other that I do that isn't right. It caught me so off-guard that I've since forgotten what point she was trying to illustrate by it.

Also, in my very first session she pointed out the fact that I'd missed part of the new patient questionnaire (which I filled out in her waiting area before she arrived) as an example of some other foible of mine. Perhaps she's using these as a way to feel me out and how I defend myself against weird arguments, but I should ask her about it if she does it again. I understand that the sessions are short and that she needs to consider as much as possible to help me out, but reading between the lines of the pre-session small talk is a little nutty.

Oh, and one last odd thing that she does. When I step into her office and sit down, she's completely silent and just looks at me, waiting for me to start. Maybe that's what they teach you to do in headshrinker school, but it freaks me out a little bit to go from running up the office stairs to talking about serious shit in the span of 20 seconds, with no small talk as a warmup.

Okay, enough bitching about the shrink. She did help me out with the main topics of discussion *ahem*, so I shouldn't complain.

Duh.

Just as I stepped out of the shower this morning, I had a small revelation. I spent a hell of a lot of time in counseling when I was younger, working on undoing the damage of my childhood issues with low self esteem, yet no time at all dealing with the problems I would deal with later in life. The future problems of an adult, unable to trust and share my true self with another human being, even those whom I love.

If you know me and you're a reader of this blog, you're probably saying "DUH!", but man, that sudden realization hit me like a brick this morning as I was toweling off. I used to tell people that I had childhood issues that I went through years of counseling to repair, and that I dealt with them and put them behind me. That's true, but I only solved half of my problems, half of the crazy shit that turns my head inside out and caused me to nuke almost every relationship I've ever had as an adult.

The things I'm dealing with now are not the problems of a teenager getting over his parent's divorce, they're of a guy who has never been able to trust the people who love him.

Is it possible to step back and see yourself from an objective distance? I can't imagine it is, but I know it must be possible to assemble enough of the puzzle to accurately see myself and my past, finally start learning from it, and stop making the same old mistakes over and over again.

There's a lofty goal: stop making the same goddamn mistakes. Truly something to shoot for.

Duh.

Therapy, Part 2

Tuesday was my second session. We talked at great length about my need to be independent and self-sufficient, and how I'm unable to trust others because of my intense instinct for self-preservation. I'm one of the most self-sufficient people I know; I fix my own car, my computers, pretty much everything in my life that can ever break, I can fix it. Everything except myself.

The trust vs. self-preservation issue will be my biggest battle to overcome in my relationships. All my life, I've operated the same way: If I trust you, and I let you into my own little world, you could start breakin' my shit. Or worse, you could decide to bail on me after I trust you and that just can't happen. No fucking way.

So I continue as I am, until I figure out a better way.

The funny part is, I thought I had dealt with most of these issues when I was younger. It seems that they're still with me.

Downtown LA

I was bored Saturday night and decided to wander around the LA River area downtown.

I'm a dork.

I'm not much of a web designer, but those of you who have done web design know that the colors of text and other webpage elements are defined by a set of hexadecimal colors. For example, red can be defined as #ff0000.

So, I had this crazy, wild idea to put my birthday in there. This is the color #071171:I saw that color and got all happy, since blue is my favorite color. Then I tried my dad's birthday, and my mom's birthday, and friend's birthdays, thinking that MY birthday was cooler than everyone else's. Nope. Everyone's birthday colors are almost exactly the same as mine, with only minor variations. Damn.

Therapy.

When I was about 13, my mom decided it would be a good idea for me to see a counselor. Someone for me to talk to and deal with any problems I wanted to sort out. My parents had just divorced, ending an ugly marriage where my dad had turned into an angry, abusive dictator. My mom was depressed and barely able to deal with her own troubles, much less help me with mine. So she sent me to someone who could help; I started seeing Jack Raby, ACSW.

Jack was exactly what I needed to keep from completely self-destructing. He figured me out pretty quickly - there were sessions when we'd spend 20 minutes talking about his boat (he had a beautiful ~40 foot Hatteras) when I just couldn't put what I was feeling into words. He knew when to not say a word and just let me sit there, perfectly silent, and try to make sense of the thoughts I couldn't understand. I was a painfully shy kid back then, afraid of what others thought of me, convinced by my father that I was worthless and stupid. He snapped me out of that, for the most part, and helped me feel better about myself - no small task when you're dealing with a gangly, pimply teenager.

Now that I'm a slightly less gangly, pimply adult, I've decided to give therapy another try, and I'm going to document some of the things I deal with here. I should probably have my head more thoroughly examined for posting this kind of thing on a blog with my name all over it, but I want a place where I can put it all down and see it. I learn by seeing and reading and re-reading and examining.

Last Monday was my first session with Janine (I'll leave her last name off, for privacy's sake). This first session was mostly spent in gettin'-to-know-you mode, so we didn't have a lot of time to deal with the things I want to sort out. But I'll have more to say soon - my next session is on Tuesday.