Things have been a little rough lately. Friday’s session was no exception.
I had no plan going into it except to get through it. I felt so guarded and vulnerable after Wednesday’s flashback session that I was terrified to even breathe too loud. I sat as far back in the corner of the chair as I could, scrunched up into a ball.
We spent a little bit of time chatting casually before I allowed a window to go deeper. I was talking about starting my first clinical affiliation in the Fall and I ended my thoughts by saying, “All of this is assuming I don’t implode before then.”
“Hmm. Why don’t we talk about that for a bit?”
We were building on a conversation from both the previous session and the post-session check-in phone call, but I still struggled to be clear. I could tell I was holding something back, but I didn’t really understand why or how. I just felt pissed. Not at her. Not at anything. Just at myself. She asked me to talk more about that.
“I just…I find my own existence to be intolerable. Being self-aware? Yeah, that is excruciating for me right now. Every moment is so hard. I feel like I spend all day jumping over obstacles only to find myself at yet another one. I muster up all this energy to jump over these HUGE canyons, and what’s waiting on the other side? Another fucking canyon! I find that I’m constantly redirecting myself from self-harm. I’ll be walking to school and think, ‘Eh. Just walk into the street.’ but I don’t know where that thought even came from! So then I’m like, ‘Well, no, don’t do that. Just keep walking. Just go to school. It’s fine.’ until the next time I want to hurl myself into traffic. And this is constantly happening! If it’s not active, it’s passive. Like a fantasy. I imagine throwing myself into a vat of acid or a wood chipper. Something violent.”
“Wow. That is a lot of self-hatred.”
“It is! And I don’t just want to harm myself, I want to destroy myself. No! I want to OBLITERATE myself. I want to cease to exist on all levels. I wish I could disappear into absolute nothingness.”
“That sounds like torture…”
“Yes. Torture. This life is torture. This existence is torture. These MEMORIES are torture!”
She tried to reassure me that this feeling won’t last forever and that this is all “part of the process” but that was so hard to hear. To me, it was like being stabbed in the stomach repeatedly. It’s excruciating and terrifying and you know you’re going to die, but someone is standing around like an asshole, saying, “I know it’s bad right now, but it won’t last forever.”
Sure, buddy. But in the meantime I am still being stabbed to death!
I know that is exceedingly dramatic, but my life feels exceedingly dramatic at the moment. Not all of it, just most of it. I think. Maybe. Who knows?
I’m too frustrated to even keep writing about this. I’m not sure I have a fucking point anyway…everything sucks. The end.