emotional processing from today's therapy session
What did I learn from telling Vic the story of my dad's death this time around? What do I feel?
I still have parts that are barely touched, barely reflected on since the day they happened when I was a teenager. Those parts seem to have yet to "unfold", relax. Those parts still carry pain, still might cause my breathing to become shallow and my diaphragm to become tight.
I learned it is hard to talk about this stuff. A part of me really wants to avoid it. The discomfort is palpable, layers deep.
I feel heavy emotion. Is it because I'm also tired, or because I had a very late lunch and so my routine was really shifted from the norm today? These are vulnerability factors. I called Ben, and I quickly got very irritated and overwhelmed when he began mentioning emotionally difficult events between him and me in the past. I told him to stop, and that it was too much. I got off the phone and felt a tinge of searing anger. I let go and recognized I was definitely very much in Emotion Mind and it was in my best interest to NOT have a conversation with him right now. I had a moment of feeling sad that he couldn't somehow know better; then I realized, this is not about him right now, and I'm not thinking that clearly. I shifted my focus back to my world, myself, my feelings, my day.
I did not have a chance right after the therapy sessions to reflect, as I was heading quickly over to a political discussion group. It was a good time. On the way home, on the train, I called Ben, then realized how emotional I seemed to be feeling.
My inner state felt confusing, nebulous. What was really going on? I felt frustrated and lost - and that's how I made my best guess I was very much in Emotion Mind.
Going back to the original questions... I feel sad that my dad is gone. And I feel sad that I don't know what to do about all of this - how to heal. I feel sad that the most proper person I have to turn to about this stuff, and know I can really be heard and in a sense "held", is my therapist. I'm said that I'm far past the age where I could possibly rely on family members to be my guardian, to be responsible for caring for me. I'm sad that when I was that age, not much of that care from adults/family ever found me. I never had it. It hurts. A whooooole lot.
I feel like i can't invest enough in healing this. like I wish I had so much more money and stability to invest in all the mental health support possible. I know there's more to healing than what I can pay for, of course. Still, I'd do it. In a way, I have, as far as I am able with the money and stability i have now.
I wish I could more easily connect with more people about this - people I become friends with, people I'm not paying, people like peers in all the places I go.
I feel alone. I feel fear about feeling all of this, about directly addressing and facing the heavy emotion here. It is ominous, dark, depressing, harsh, worrisome, horrible, endless, painful, hopeless. Those are adjectives that come up.
What was the impact on my sense of safety in this loss, and in the time I lived with him?
When I lost my dad... I definitely felt more alone and less safe in the world. In a way, my already prevalent, daily sense of total insecurity and threat were confirmed. I was now more alone than ever, destined to be alone, and walk the streets alone, and cry alone. It seemed there was no way out, and no way to truly connect or feel deeply supported by anyone. In some ways our relationship before he died was frightening, unhealthy; however, aside from perhaps some positive experiences as a young child (with my grandmother, for example), it was probably the most loving, supportive relationship I ever experienced. My father scared me when he was alive and angry, and he scared me in his passing - okay, not in the same way. His passing left me scared, sad, hurt, depressed, hopeless, gloomy, disconnected from reality.
I felt like I didn't do enough when he was dying, and in the moments when he actually passed. I felt shame and guilt. I didn't face his death, his empty body; I didn't touch that body to recognize how it felt one last time. I hid, even while I remained in the room. I did my best, and inside, on some level, my best was not good enough.
I knew my mother could never be the parent I'd wished she'd be. I knew i could not rely on her or trust her with many things. I knew I had no siblings and no family i felt really understood me. I knew my father's passing was the end of an opportunity for something seemingly small but significant - a tender loving connection with a person who really cared about me, in the ways he was able, in ways he showed me actively.
I never felt fully safe when I lived with him before he died, though I felt far safer and more stable than I had during the time I'd lived with just my mom through much of my childhood. I felt safe enough to feel like I was sort of "normal" and could more easily have fluid, various, diverse friendships; I could invite people over. I could ave friends who met different needs, and there was less a sense of desperation in my relating with them. I could have a father who cared about my relationships - friendships, romances - and feel really seen, loved, cared for in that. My father knew who my friends were, and he even spoke with them, joked with them, sometimes even told me how he felt about them (positive and negative). Even though his anger often seemed inappropriate and extreme, sometimes it came with care - like all the times he was shocked to discover I did not know how to so all kinds of basic household things. I had never been taught. When he yelled at me for it, I hurt a lot, and felt at fault - but looking back, it wasn't my fault for not ever having been taught or guided in how to do those things. He shamed me, even though it was not my doing.
I did not feel safe around him sometimes. Yet things were looking up in my world. When he left, some of that really shattered. I was left with my inheritance, including the home he and I had shared together. The inheritance was empty and emotionless and mostly meaningless. I felt touched he gave it to me, that at some point he probably thought about providing for me after he was gone.
That inheritance supported me in many ways, though, there was no loving presence, no support system of people, no family, community, or sense of belonging. In fact I barely had any sense of meaning for most of my 20s. I floated in my semi-privileged bubble of vague hopefulness, rife with suppressed emotion and horrible pain. I struggled to survive, and when my inheritance mostly ran out, and I'd experienced multiple major health crisis, I hit multiple rock bottoms. These helped me establish my own sense of reality, grounding, connected-ness - requiring this grounding to survive absolute existential crisis. It wasn't really a ground of loving home or belonging, but it was a ground of learning what is required to live in this place I live - capital, profit, money. And how to make it, working in a job. And how to sustain a job without going crazy.
I feel overwhelmed, exhausted. I'm puzzled about how I'll ever experience a life that has consistent belonging, love (with others), safety, connection, family. Suggestions from my therapist, from DBT itself, from voices around and inside me, suggest this is the direction I move into now. Somehow, somewhere, sometime, I might experience these things I've never before experienced that I can recall. How is that possible? Is it real? Of course I fear never experiencing it. Or what if it isn't even real, available?
I could write a lot more and maybe I will tomorrow. I really need to go to sleep.
I still have parts that are barely touched, barely reflected on since the day they happened when I was a teenager. Those parts seem to have yet to "unfold", relax. Those parts still carry pain, still might cause my breathing to become shallow and my diaphragm to become tight.
I learned it is hard to talk about this stuff. A part of me really wants to avoid it. The discomfort is palpable, layers deep.
I feel heavy emotion. Is it because I'm also tired, or because I had a very late lunch and so my routine was really shifted from the norm today? These are vulnerability factors. I called Ben, and I quickly got very irritated and overwhelmed when he began mentioning emotionally difficult events between him and me in the past. I told him to stop, and that it was too much. I got off the phone and felt a tinge of searing anger. I let go and recognized I was definitely very much in Emotion Mind and it was in my best interest to NOT have a conversation with him right now. I had a moment of feeling sad that he couldn't somehow know better; then I realized, this is not about him right now, and I'm not thinking that clearly. I shifted my focus back to my world, myself, my feelings, my day.
I did not have a chance right after the therapy sessions to reflect, as I was heading quickly over to a political discussion group. It was a good time. On the way home, on the train, I called Ben, then realized how emotional I seemed to be feeling.
My inner state felt confusing, nebulous. What was really going on? I felt frustrated and lost - and that's how I made my best guess I was very much in Emotion Mind.
Going back to the original questions... I feel sad that my dad is gone. And I feel sad that I don't know what to do about all of this - how to heal. I feel sad that the most proper person I have to turn to about this stuff, and know I can really be heard and in a sense "held", is my therapist. I'm said that I'm far past the age where I could possibly rely on family members to be my guardian, to be responsible for caring for me. I'm sad that when I was that age, not much of that care from adults/family ever found me. I never had it. It hurts. A whooooole lot.
I feel like i can't invest enough in healing this. like I wish I had so much more money and stability to invest in all the mental health support possible. I know there's more to healing than what I can pay for, of course. Still, I'd do it. In a way, I have, as far as I am able with the money and stability i have now.
I wish I could more easily connect with more people about this - people I become friends with, people I'm not paying, people like peers in all the places I go.
I feel alone. I feel fear about feeling all of this, about directly addressing and facing the heavy emotion here. It is ominous, dark, depressing, harsh, worrisome, horrible, endless, painful, hopeless. Those are adjectives that come up.
What was the impact on my sense of safety in this loss, and in the time I lived with him?
When I lost my dad... I definitely felt more alone and less safe in the world. In a way, my already prevalent, daily sense of total insecurity and threat were confirmed. I was now more alone than ever, destined to be alone, and walk the streets alone, and cry alone. It seemed there was no way out, and no way to truly connect or feel deeply supported by anyone. In some ways our relationship before he died was frightening, unhealthy; however, aside from perhaps some positive experiences as a young child (with my grandmother, for example), it was probably the most loving, supportive relationship I ever experienced. My father scared me when he was alive and angry, and he scared me in his passing - okay, not in the same way. His passing left me scared, sad, hurt, depressed, hopeless, gloomy, disconnected from reality.
I felt like I didn't do enough when he was dying, and in the moments when he actually passed. I felt shame and guilt. I didn't face his death, his empty body; I didn't touch that body to recognize how it felt one last time. I hid, even while I remained in the room. I did my best, and inside, on some level, my best was not good enough.
I knew my mother could never be the parent I'd wished she'd be. I knew i could not rely on her or trust her with many things. I knew I had no siblings and no family i felt really understood me. I knew my father's passing was the end of an opportunity for something seemingly small but significant - a tender loving connection with a person who really cared about me, in the ways he was able, in ways he showed me actively.
I never felt fully safe when I lived with him before he died, though I felt far safer and more stable than I had during the time I'd lived with just my mom through much of my childhood. I felt safe enough to feel like I was sort of "normal" and could more easily have fluid, various, diverse friendships; I could invite people over. I could ave friends who met different needs, and there was less a sense of desperation in my relating with them. I could have a father who cared about my relationships - friendships, romances - and feel really seen, loved, cared for in that. My father knew who my friends were, and he even spoke with them, joked with them, sometimes even told me how he felt about them (positive and negative). Even though his anger often seemed inappropriate and extreme, sometimes it came with care - like all the times he was shocked to discover I did not know how to so all kinds of basic household things. I had never been taught. When he yelled at me for it, I hurt a lot, and felt at fault - but looking back, it wasn't my fault for not ever having been taught or guided in how to do those things. He shamed me, even though it was not my doing.
I did not feel safe around him sometimes. Yet things were looking up in my world. When he left, some of that really shattered. I was left with my inheritance, including the home he and I had shared together. The inheritance was empty and emotionless and mostly meaningless. I felt touched he gave it to me, that at some point he probably thought about providing for me after he was gone.
That inheritance supported me in many ways, though, there was no loving presence, no support system of people, no family, community, or sense of belonging. In fact I barely had any sense of meaning for most of my 20s. I floated in my semi-privileged bubble of vague hopefulness, rife with suppressed emotion and horrible pain. I struggled to survive, and when my inheritance mostly ran out, and I'd experienced multiple major health crisis, I hit multiple rock bottoms. These helped me establish my own sense of reality, grounding, connected-ness - requiring this grounding to survive absolute existential crisis. It wasn't really a ground of loving home or belonging, but it was a ground of learning what is required to live in this place I live - capital, profit, money. And how to make it, working in a job. And how to sustain a job without going crazy.
I feel overwhelmed, exhausted. I'm puzzled about how I'll ever experience a life that has consistent belonging, love (with others), safety, connection, family. Suggestions from my therapist, from DBT itself, from voices around and inside me, suggest this is the direction I move into now. Somehow, somewhere, sometime, I might experience these things I've never before experienced that I can recall. How is that possible? Is it real? Of course I fear never experiencing it. Or what if it isn't even real, available?
I could write a lot more and maybe I will tomorrow. I really need to go to sleep.
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