Ok. Y’all are going to laugh at me, I’m pretty sure. There’s this thing about me… that has caused me a lot of ridicule over the last few years, especially with my in-laws. See… the thing is. I don’t like getting/being dirty. I’m an indoors kind of person. I don’t let my fingernails get dirt under them. I hate dealing with things that might get under my fingernails. I don’t like yard work or very many animals. It’s not for everyone and you know what! That’s ok. However… it’s becoming more and more apparent that I’m fixing to have some serious problems. Because… babies are messy. They get stuff everywhere. Every time Aubree eats something, I spend 60% of our time cleaning off her hands and face and 40% of that time actually feeding her. I seriously do NOT foresee me giving her chocolate, ice cream, icing, spaghetti or anything of the messy nature until she’s old enough not to make a mess with it. Seriously. The thought of having to deal with her as such a big mess gives me major anxiety. I look at other people’s kids who are messy and while they’re pretty adorable, seeing THEM gives me anxiety. How am I going to move past this. Poor Aubree is going to end up eating a lot of like… bread and pancakes and plain noodles or something. Why am I such a neurotic woman… Man, my husband is going to get a kick out of this one.
I’ve got some things rattling around (literally and figuratively) in my head today. (Just for the record, there’s construction going on outside my building, and so we’re a little shaky in here today!) Anyway, so I wanted to write what’s going on in my head before I go to counseling and I’m done thinking for the rest of the day because that’s how it seems to go.
I wrote a very long letter to my husband, probably at the worst time possible, explaining in very graphic detail some of the things that happened to me in my past. A friend asked why I felt the need to do that, if I was just buying into the “he feels the need to know every. single. thing about me.” Well… yes and no. There are some things about me that I’ll probably never tell Andrew. I don’t feel the need to. They don’t affect who I am today. The things I wrote to him about, affect me every day. I’m coming to realize that. All these things, things I thought I had dealt with. I haven’t really. I’m still working on it. Writing him doesn’t magically fix these things. It doesn’t make them go *poof* as much as I’d like them to. I need to understand me. Andrew needs to understand me. That’s why I did it. Mostly so I could have a deeper understanding of myself, and then so my husband can recognize the things that are going on with me.
I started going to counseling when I started my master’s program in the summer. It’s not required, but it is recommended. So I thought, “Hey! Why not?” I initially went to this awful, awful woman who treated me like I was crazy and that everything I was doing was wrong. She works with kids too. That’s scary. I had to get away from her. I don’t know if she was ethically doing anything wrong, but I did not like the way she treated me, so I moved on to find a new counselor. I like my new counselor. I still feel like we’re a little in the “get to know you” phase, but we’re kind of moving into the “get down to business” phase. Obviously, cause I never would have put this much thought into the things I’ve been thinking about lately.
Counselors, LPCs and LMFTs aren’t MDs. They don’t have to be doctors to practice, but it is a service covered by my insurance. In order for my insurance to pay for my counseling, I have to have a diagnosis. So my counselor gave me a diagnosis, and wanted to give me one that wouldn’t cause me problems in the future. He diagnosed me with PTSD. Where could she have gotten PTSD, you ask? It has to do with being molested by my piano teacher when I was a kid. I didn’t put much thought into it, I thought it was just for insurance. After all. I’d already dealt with that! I’m not a crazy person. I lead a “normal,” fulfilling, loving life! I’m not bitter. I don’t lash out at people or act erratically. I don’t blame others for what has happened to me, I was fine. Until I picked a major that tossed me square in front of all my past issues, and all of a sudden I realized that I hadn’t dealt with these things. I just pushed them down to where I couldn’t see them anymore. I didn’t need to see them. Now I have to see them. I have to face them in order to become a good counselor some day. (uh oh, here comes the fuzz!)
I told the aforementioned friend what happened when I tried to watch a video for my summer class. I hadn’t told anyone about it except my mom. But we had been talking about buttons and so I told her about that one getting pushed by the video. She suggested I talk to my counselor about it. So I did… Kinda. As best I can, because it’s hard for me to get the words out. We all have buttons. Mine cause me to get shaky, fuzzy, nauseous, and a little ragy. (I’ll try to get to that one in a bit, but no promises.) I talked to my counselor about not being able to talk about my issues directly and that I want to work on being able to talk about them. Not because I need to talk about them all the time, but I want to be able to deal with them, and I figure being able to talk to my husband might be a good step. The next session, I spent the whole session crying about how I can’t/won’t talk to Andrew or anyone about what bothers me deep down. The next session, I just said “Maybe I should just write everything down and get it out that way.” I was kidding, he said I should try. Like I really want to devote more time to writing. I can’t even manage to write my poor husband regularly anymore. And then I thought…. why don’t I just write it down and send it to my husband.
So I did. I wrote him all the things that I haven’t been able to tell anyone else. Not even my counselor. Well not yet. It felt better to be able to talk to him about it. Except, like I mentioned earlier, I picked about the worst time ever. First of all, he’s going through a lot right now with his family and second of all, he has no phone minutes to call me to see if I’m ok. I know he’s going to freak out till he’s able to call me tomorrow. I expect a phone call, definitely by noon, but if he got up and called me at 6 am, I wouldn’t be that shocked. I’m also apprehensive about how he’s going to react to the things I wrote. They’re going to hurt him to read. They hurt me to write. I know he’ll still love me, but will he look at me differently? Will he pity me? Will he think… what will he think? Things like that worry me.
So in the counseling journey, I have discovered a few things about myself. I really do get triggered. I thought it was a bunch of malarkey at first, but now I’m realizing that I always have. And the things that trigger me, may not even have anything to do with what happened in the past, but the way I react is a product of the way I dealt with what happened to me. When I’m upset, really really upset, I get pretty quiet. Or really really loud. There’s not a whole lot of in between. I’m getting better about the loudness, worse at the quietness. I can’t find a happy medium it seems. I also do NOT want to be touched at all. I don’t want people to touch me in any way, shape, or form. No hugs, no hand shakes, nothing. It literally makes my skin crawl. My husband and I used to argue, and when we did, he’d try to hold me and that would just throw me into a fit of rage and neither of us ever understood why I reacted that way. I think it’s because of a trigger. I still don’t want to be touched when I’m upset. I am not sure how to get past that. The ONE exception to that is my baby and because she needs me. I hope that never changes. I hope she’s always immune to me feeling that way towards her. It’s so funny too, because I’m not really a personal space type of person, unless I’m upset. (The fuzz is causing a headache now. I’ve delved too deeply into myself.) I mentioned last time about intentionally making my life hard. I do things to avoid other things and it just makes everything harder. I avoided doing a budget for the longest time, because I didn’t want to think about it. Guess what. I sat down and did a budget the other day. I get paid tomorrow, and I’m not worried about not having enough money to pay my bills because I stuck to my budget. I avoided letting Andrew into my life because I didn’t want to share my issues with him. I shared some of myself with him, that I have held onto for a long time. It didn’t kill me and I felt RELIEVED! I’m so glad. I hope that continues. I know that I still have a long way to go, but I feel like I’m taking steps in a positive direction.
Well… I have put the fuzz at bay for as long as I can. I’m going to let go now so that I don’t get a worse headache. Counseling, counseling class, and church tonight! Good choice to do all those on the same day…
Sounds like a bad drink, doesn’t it? Well it’s not, just for the record. That’s how my brain is. Fuzzy. A lot of the time. I’m struggling to get out of this fuzz, too, and I’m having a really hard time. I try to explain it and it just gets fuzzier. My counselor has suggested journaling, which I’ll probably do more privately, but I haven’t blogged in a while so, here I am. And I type faster than I write so her it is.
I’m (mostly) a happy person. I fake it a lot (A LOT) though. Trained eyes (like my mom) can tell when I’m faking it, but most other people don’t know. I have a lot of things that bother me deep down that I need to work through. I know exactly where I need to start. Some of the words to express what I need to say even bubble up to the top of my brain. But that’s it. They get to the top and my brain starts to go all fuzzy. I want to get these things out of me. I want to work through issue “a” so I can move on to issue “b”, both past issues that I need to deal with in order to handle the present issue “c.” But every time I try to form the words to anyone, I get denied access. Cognitively I know why I’m like this. Knowing that, and fixing it, dealing with it, getting past it are all very different things. Even now the fuzz is over taking me. Making me unable to concentrate. Sending me to my “happy” place that’s all trashy and invaded. I need to clean everything up.
How do I start. How do I write all these things down if I can’t even get them to form in my head. It’s so frustrating. After counseling, I’ve been trying to think on them and I just can’t. And then I just get more frustrated. My counselor has also determined that I’m a little bit of a masochist, though even I don’t know why. It’s like I deliberately make my life hard? Why do I do that. I can’t even remember what we talked about that made him say I was a bit of a masochist. Product of the brain fuzz. I hate not being able to articulate things. It comes out a lot when I’m trying to explain how I feel about things to Andrew. I just never can get it done, even when I’m writing to him. And then he just gets frustrated (flat out angry) with me because I “don’t communicate” with him. What a load of crap. I’m trying!
I managed to work out a pretty decent budget last night. And that was one of the things I needed to sit down and deal with, that I had been putting off. It gave (gives) me extreme anxiety. I feel better having worked out. But I almost feel worse too, because it’s pretty strict and what if I deviate from it and mess it all up. I feel like it’s putting a lot of pressure on me. Not having it wasn’t working either, though. Six to one half a dozen of the other. (Did you know, typing out all those funny little sayings you say is kinda hard….weird.) But, I had a starting point, and now I have an ending point, and the ending point is really bright. I figure if I could work through my other issues, two of which had starts and ends because they’re in the past, and one I’m currently living through, I’d feel better. So why do I keep putting it off? Why can’t I deal with it. Who knows. Either way… I’m all fuzzy and now it’s time to go to class, so I’m going to be all fuzzy through class, and I hate, hate, hate that.