I was so much more broken than I realized.
I really have been like my ankle.
Standing and living as if I was strong even though I was not, even though inside, my tendon was breaking more as I both ignored and pushed through the pain and my misunderstood condition.
I am starting over again.
Trying to understand why they refuse to see the evidence of the broken me.
They are a place of psychology.
Coincidentally my physical therapist -whose first name is the same as my new counseling therapist- originally got his degree in psychology.
Physical therapist says I am still fresh in dealing with this and that was nice to hear. But what really got me thinking is when he asked me yesterday "What could be the worst possible outcome?"
... I think that is the problem.
I think this is the worst possible outcome and I don't really know what to do about it.
This, to me, is the worst possible outcome because I thought I was doing so well, but I could not communicate correctly so I got dropped, and then I broke.
My therapist may have been careless and irresponsible in how he handled the situation but that may have been because I was like my ankle and I appeared to be better than I was; not knowing how to really voice my concerns because I felt guilty and insecure for feeling them.
And I had grown attached. I knew how to handle my attachment and I had a plan but I was too insecure, to broken to know how or even that I needed to communicate my plan with him. The funny thing is, he did the same thing, failed to communicate his termination plan with me.
I was much more fragile than I knew as I was just realizing how broken I really had been for so very long and why. I felt I had knew hope but then the rug was pulled out from under me and I broke.
The breaking was painful and blissful at the same time.
That state of shock your body goes into when it is fighting to survive.
I went crazy but because I have experience with that it was misunderstood, by the one person who was not only supposed to understand and see it but whose job it was to protect and help me through it. But he didn't know how to handle me. The story of my life. He didn't see it, because I was not crazy, I was just functioning from a alternative reality. I was combining the worlds I was living in a bit too well OR he was also living in them but he did not realize it.
My brain has been a mess, a fascinating semi-functional mess, but a mess and a burden on others, which I hate to be, but I am. Especially with the ankle. I need to embrace the burden that I am, I suppose.
But worse case scenario? I am made out to be something I am not, I am misdiagnosed and misunderstood and I don't know how to handle it. So in trying to understand, trying to get those who are the professionals, the ones I am paying for, who are trained to know better than I but have made the mistakes -mistakes I am fine to forgive- I make tons of mistakes as my silly irrational brain is trying to make sense of all the parts and pieces and input and output and it's chemical surges. Worst case scenario, they don't listen and they act as if I am making it all up, faking, or they paint me to be something I am not and I loose my safe place and hopeful home of recovery altogether. Worst case, he denies everything and I am left alone to decipher and decide what to do about what I know to be defensive and offensive patterns that guilty manipulators and exploiters use....That I have to decide to blow the top off this thing or let it go, knowing I am not so special, not likely the first to be toyed with, he's likely succeeded in exploitations before and is very unlikely to get caught because he is so good at it and he knows how to cover his ass and tracks...
It is my worst case scenario... I don't want to decide that. I don't want to be caught in this spot. I still want to believe it was a comedy of errors with a man who was broken like me. Broken like me
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