Short and Sweet

I just finished my Tuesday session with Dr. X. I was hoping to feel better when I left, but I don't. In a way I feel worse. And I feel very, very alone. I want to know what's happening. I want Dr. X. to help me figure it out, but I'm starting to think she can't. I hate analysis. And I love it. Yep, I'm crazy.

The Very First Couch Potato Ramble

I don't know if analysis is good for me.  I feel crazy all the time - always trying to figure out what I'm thinking, what I'm feeling.  Is there really a point to it?  I wonder.  Will I ever know whatever it is that I think I need to know?  Will I ever find whatever it is I'm looking for?  What AM I looking for, anyway?  I feel like I'm wandering, lost and still as alone as ever.  Alone on the inside, that is.  I'm far from alone on the outside.  I want to feel connected to...something.  Someone?  I'm not even sure what I mean by that.  Maybe I just need to be with people who think like I do.  But how DO I think?  I want to talk about ideas and feelings and things people don't typically talk about in their everyday interactions.  I want to talk about truth, and why people are they way they are, and the way that it all fits together.  I want to think about what it all means.  But, more than that, I want to talk about what it all means.  I want to talk about love.  I want to feel love - a different kind of love, belonging, connection.  Where are my people?  I don't want to talk, and talk, and talk and never get anywhere.  That's what it's like with Dr. X.   Just talking to hear my head rattle, as my mom would say.  Besides, what I've got with her isn't real.  It's an illusion.  It's a game.  It's make-believe.  I don't care what she, or anyone else, says.  I don't even care what I sometimes know.  I mean, it might pass for a real relationship for some people, but not for me.  Why can't we just admit that and get on with it?  Why do we have to pretend?  Why is writing about it making me feel like I'm going to cry?  Why does it feel like Dr. X. and I are moving apart rather than closer together?  There's some invisible something that's keeping us from fully connecting - keeping me from getting close.  What is it?  Is it me?  Is it her?  I don't feel smart enough to figure it all out.  Thinking about it makes me tired and sad.  I feel like I need therapy to help me deal with analysis.  I need to talk about what is happening with Dr. X., and, as dumb as it sounds, I can't seem to talk to her about it.  Nothing is real with her.  I don't get real answers.  I get carefully crafted answers.  I get questions.  I know that's how the game is played - I do.  I'm just not sure I like the game anymore.  Maybe I'll quit.  I'm never going to learn how to do it right anyway.  I don't think I'm smart enough.  Or maybe I'm too smart.  I really don't know.  Sometimes I think I'm only fooling myself (and lots of other people too) into believing that I'm intelligent.  Other times I feel too smart for my own good.  If I could just get a hold of those crazy floating words!  I understand so much until I try to pin it all down, until I try to catch it and show it to someone else.  That's when it disappears.  Sometimes words suck.  They take too much energy.  Feeling takes too much energy.  It all makes me tired.  I want a mommy.  I need a safe place where I can just be.  But I can't have what I want.  I can't have it.  I can't have it.  I can't have it.  No do-overs.  No take-backs.  This is the life I got, and, really, it's not so bad.  But no one is ever going to love me or take care of me the way I want someone to.  Nope, it ain't gonna happen - ever.  Because I'm 47 fucking years old, and no one wants a middle-aged baby.  How do I learn to accept that?  I am the mommy. I've always been the mommy. It's not going to change.  You, A. Secret, are on your own.  Remember?