Here's something I've been stewing over lately. When you've been in therapy for as long as I have, and especially when you've studied Psych./Soc. like I did in school, you develop certain... talents. Skills if you will. Such developments are very helpful, both in therapy and in life. When something goes wrong, or you catch yourself behaving in a way that is resultant of whatever you're receiving treatment for, you can apply the mechanisms you've learned. They can be incredibly helpful, but like everything else in this world there are pros and cons. Once you've mastered (so to speak) the art of self-examination, you start looking at other people the same way. You start applying what you've learned to them. And that doesn't always turn out well.
The ability I'm referring to today is that of psychoanalysis.
Dictionary.reference.com defines psychoanalysis as follows:
noun
1) a systematic structure of theories concerning the relations of conscious and unconscious psychological processes
2) a technical procedure for investigating unconscious mental processes and for treating psychoneuroses
Today, let's talk about the latter definition.
Having psychoanalysis in your supply closet of coping methods is invaluable (unless you are one of those individuals who take it too far *cough* BBC Sherlock Holmes *cough*). It allows you to ponder things out for yourself, to pick apart your motives, desires, and actions. Once you've done that, it's easier to focus on each aspect. That's where the professional help comes in. Understanding not why you do something but what drives you--or stops you as the case may be. What blocks you from getting what you want?
In theory it's a fairly straightforward process. Ask questions; get answers. The questions my therapists usually ask me, and I have now begun to ask myself, are paraphrased below.
What do you want?
What actions can you take to achieve that goal?
What steps have you taken?
What stopped you from taking those steps?
What are the excuses your subconscious provides?
What are you afraid of?/What about this makes you anxious?
What are the reasons behind your reluctance to act?
What is the origin of that reason?
What can you do to manage those fears and anxieties?Well, essentially those questions. I think I got the spirit of it, anyway. Fact of the matter is that these aren't just questions; these are The Hard Questions. At the source of every decision or non-decision you make or don't make (choosing not to decide is still choosing, by the way) is a reason. A fear, anxiety, a traumatic incident, whatever. It is one of your vulnerabilities.You may not be able to recognize it.
More importantly, chances are you don't want to.
Your mind and heart and sometimes body will fight and fight and fight to keep that Reason hidden. Safe and untouched at the back of your mind or deep in yourself where it won't hurt as bad, and you can live without acknowledging it. You will rebel against the invasive, cruel, rude and unnecessary interrogation you or your therapist is putting you through.
You will get angry.
You will be afraid.
And it will hurt.
There are as many reasons, many of which are instinctive emotional reactions, to bury your vulnerability. Sometimes you hide these parts of you because you're ashamed. Sometimes it is because you have been hurt before. Sometimes it is even because you have examined it before and know it's irrational--but you feel it is truth regardless.
(Shit like this is why we need therapy.)
I can't very well expect you to examine yourself so uncomfortably closely without doing so myself. In the spirit of fairness and the immortal words of everyone everywhere:
I'll show you mine if you show me yours.
I genuinely believe I am replaceable. To expand on that a little: I believe myself to be a burden, and feel very deeply that "I am not the child my parents would have wanted". Why do I think that? Simple: I was conditioned to, through many unhealthy friendships, believe absolutely in my lack of self-worth. I am worth nothing without them by my side, I am unwanted, I am substandard, I am a bad person. Those thoughts wormed their way into my mind around the same time I started to really grasp the concept of "money" and understanding that my medications and therapy sessions were draining my family's funds. I was causing trouble, I was making life difficult for them. I still am: I am unemployed, I do not drive, I drain the family coffers with my wants and wishes and medicines. To this day I have problems--big problems--with feelings of inadequacy and worthlessness. I wrestle everyday with the concept that I am loved [And here I am stumped. I don't know how to phrase the next part of the sentence. ...because of who I am? ...despite who I am? ...regardless of who I am? They all have drastically different meanings. I'm not in my family's heads; I can't figure out which words to use and be accurate.] Because of this:
I am afraid of being left behind and/or forgotten. That is it. That is the bottom line. This one is simple. I submit myself to abuse, I am desperate to leave an impression, I dress in an unusual fashion, I spend time memorizing jokes. I am grateful for every single instance in which someone I have not seen for some time recalls who I am, and yet due to the above, remain incapable of speaking to such people for fear of interfering in their life and causing them trouble. In school I was so desperate to be acknowledged I maintained abusive relationships, openly mocked not only myself but others in a frantic bid to impress my so-called friends. I devoted myself to them, some more than others. I loved them and gave them everything I could--nearly all of me. It wasn't enough. For almost three years I spent money, my family's money, to talk about my friends and get advice on how to help them (she wondered why my years of therapy didn't seem to make a difference). Even now, even this second, I am fighting the urge to give in, throw what little self-respect I've built up since graduating out the metaphorical window, and contact them. Just one of them. Just her. Just her.
I hold myself responsible for things out of my control/I give myself too much credit. In contrast to the above I tend to feel that I (potentially) have a large impact on those around me. You saw some of this in my last post, but let me give you an example: If my father and grandmother get into a fight, and he leaves angry to go on a drive, I consider it my duty to catch him before he leaves, give him a hug, and try and calm him as much as I can. So far he's always come back. No car crashes, no arrests, no anything awful that doesn't bear thinking about. But if I were to move out, and my father and grandmother get into a fight, and he leaves angry to go on a drive, and crashes and dies because he wasn't thinking clearly--that would be my fault. I would carry my father's death on by shoulders for the rest of my life, not simply because I would mourn and miss him, but because I was responsible for not being there. I selfishly left home and foolishly expected my family of adults to actually be rational, responsible people. I also consider myself responsible for losing friends. You see, I have been friends with and lost so many people who are so very different. The only common denominator in every one of those relationships--was me. Logically, I am at fault. Which leads quite nicely into my next admittance.
Something is wrong with me. No ifs, ands, or buts. Something is wrong with me. As a person, a friend, a daughter, a sister, niece, cousin, goddaughter, human being, something is wrong with me. And whatever it is, is irreparable.
(I go to therapy to deal with shit like this.)
So. Psychoanalysis, yes? For me that means prying myself apart, combing through the separated strands of my memories, feelings, impulses, and thoughts, and looking at them very, very hard until I start seeing how maybe this way on the left there has something to do with that down in the right corner.
It is an invaluable ability. It tides me over between sessions. It empowers me to take the lead in my own therapy appointments instead of following the guidance of the person giving counsel (thought sometimes that is most certainly needed). I can direct us to where I want to go, what I want to work on, what I think needs to be examined.
(Therapy means unweaving the messy tapestry of my life, one section at at a time, and painstakingly investigating the source of the errors and mistakes before putting it back together, better. More like I wanted it to be when I started. Thankfully, despite my metaphor, I still get to jump around. I don't have to do it in any particular order. As things come up, as I have my revelations and epiphanies and go through various life experiences, I tackle them. One step at a time.
It's sewing and realizing you fucked up a stitch a while back but not so far it's worth tying off the thread where you are. It's going back and looking at what you did, trying different ways to fix it, and finding something that works. Then you move forward.
It's trying to get a degree and having to go through prerequisite classes, only the classes are the therapy, and the degree is you finally in control of your life.)
But you can't do it alone, not really. I have had several experiences with bringing something up and having my therapists calling me out on that one, odd thing I said. Like a thread sticking out of the hem of your shirt. And she pulls at it insistently until I am clinging to my defenses/excuses/reasons by the skin of my teeth... and then once more. And out comes the truth. The hard truth. The painful, shameful, embarrassing, irrational truth. And then I can start thinking clearly.
At last my defenses are down. At last my blinders are off. At last I recognize that I am in a safe environment, working with someone who's primary concern is not to make my life easier, but to help me make my life better.
So yeah. At the start of this I mentioned the pros and cons.
Fact of the matter is, there are very few cons. Just one, really, that comes to mind...
I bring all this up because a fortnight or so ago I found myself idly, coldly, objectively dissecting the reasons my sister has not taken a certain action. I came to a perfectly reasonable, rather upsetting conclusion and wondered how she would react when I mentioned it to her.
Then I stopped and thought how much that would hurt her, and decided not to do so.
During the subsequent moment of clarity I made a choice... a new rule for myself: I will not psychoanalyze the people I care about. And if I do, without realizing?
I will not bring up my deductions in a fight. I will not back the people I love into a corner using things I've learned in confidence or realized on my own as weapons against family and friends. I know that pain. I know that fear. I know the helplessness and misery that comes with becoming the victim of people less conscientious than myself. I know what it feels like to be betrayed.
I also know what it feels like to be the assailant.
I've done that. And I spent years trying to make up for it. Years never being quite forgiven. It hurt. Hurts nearly as much as being on the receiving end of such an attack--and yes. They are attacks.
As someone who has been on both sides, I think I'm entitled to say that both suck and nobody ends up truly happy. One because they are haunted by another's words and deeds, the other because they will always wonder 'what if'.
I would say it happens on accident sometimes but I've never had that experience. Each time I hurt someone like that, using my intimate knowledge of their feelings and weaknesses and personal demons, I knew exactly what it would do. I planned what to say ahead of time. I steered the conversation down a path that would allow me to say, quite naturally, the thing I knew would hurt them most.
So. Psychoanalysis, yes? No?
Pros: better person, handle on your own emotions, understanding the reasons behind (in)actions, taking charge of your own life, making progress, learning more about yourself, able to better understand others
Cons: better able to hurt others' feelings, temptation to use knowledge against others, potential for social disaster when incorrect, potential path to misery
Basically? It would behoove you to remember a few things:
Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.
Karma is a bitch.
Think, then speak.
With great power comes great responsibility.
They are rubber and you are glue; whatever you say bounces off them and sticks to you.
And that's a wrap, folks. I know my personal views and experiences got us way off track. But honestly, it says at the top of the page I'm ADD, why did you expect me to stay focused?
...I think that's the closest I've come to writing an essay is about four years. Golly.
Ja na!
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