As I have been processing today, specifically my conversation with Dr. She (I need to come up with a better name for her) I remembered some stuff.
First, part of my issue with the whole situation that transpired was that is was fairytale bullshit come to life. The feelings I was feeling were very real, exquisitely intense, and very profound and yet I did not entirely trust them. I trusted him. But then he fed those feelings with ambiguous words and phrases. Implied, but neither confirmed nor denied- One could claim: open to interpretation. What was I to believe and what was I to do with that?
My own personal bias is that romance is mostly a load of shit that Hollywood and maybe even Walt himself feeds us to get us to easily open our pocketbooks and pants. I think a lot of it is a conspiracy of men; feed women these fairytale fantasy's of fast and furious love that always results in happily ever after and getting her to drop her pants and hop in the sack is going to be a piece of cake. Create the culture of it and you'll be able to get any woman easily and quickly. After all she wants to be loved passionately. ... So it's a conspiracy that we are molested with in our youthful innocence. And boys are molested too. They think that is what they are supposed to do, get the girl in bed by any means possible or if they are feeling these very sexual attractions, it must be love.... blah blah, I could conspiracy on and on, but mostly, and likely because I am one of the very fortunate few who was not actually physically molested as a child, I can see through the bullshit and I know it is just that AND I know that men can control themselves and blah blah...
And I don't want to head down this rabbit hole because I find it infuriating how many girls are molested as children, or raped as teens. I am mind blown again and again. and while I had some shitty youthful experiences I am extremely grateful I do not have that one in my bag of buried skeletons.
But my point is that I refuse to buy into that fairytale love, fantasy soulmate shit, and yet somehow I still do... and there I was in the thick of it, like I had never been before...
and in my misinterpretation or miscommunication I was then left trying to hold up his world at the expense of mine, and I wasn't sure how to proceed with understanding what was really going on.
Dr. She pointed out that I recognized how the fairytale feedings had likely played into this scenario, and she agreed that they likely had. I felt nauseous with myself and I want to deny it, even though I know better.
And the stupid thing is, that is the story I was more inclined to accept as it was fertilized by their bullshit of denial, ass-covering, and gaslighting. It was something similar to the common problem of children being labeled as "bad" or some other negative label by a teacher or parent and then they are stuck with carrying it and the label following them throughout the rest of their school life as the teachers spread and pass this lemming judgement on. The child then, finding no way out, eventually relents, embraces the label because they cannot seem to shake it, and starts purposefully living up to the expectations placed on them. It happens ALL THE TIME and its not fair to those kids. The person in power has them labeled and has stopped seeing them. Then the child starts believing they are bad and so therefore that is how they should continue to behave. It's so funny how there acceptance of this label can actually be evidence of their desire to conform and be accepted. Even evidence of their goodness.
Again, I could philosophize about this forever...
but ultimately I chose to buy into the fairytale fantasy more often then the IHC advocates, directors, and staff who were simply labeling me a liability and "not worth our time." Can you blame me? Especially amidst the intensity of emotions and rejection that happened. Can you blame me for wanting to believe it was a forbidden love that was the problem over an innately flawed and unsalvageable me?
One thing I can say is that initially I was fully willing to take the fall and accept full responsibility for my "misinterpretation" of the situation and conversations that led me to believe that dear Perri Cheri had in fact developed romantic feelings. I knew that he implied them and I knew that he had definitely lost objectivity, but I also perceived myself as a challenge, and indeed I may be. I could accept then that I had brought it onto myself.
But I should not be taking the entirety of responsibility in the mistakes made, especially when and as I kept asking for clarification, they not only refused that potential and reason for misinterpretation, but also started playing avoid-the-liability games with me.
I was fully prepared to face the embarrassment and shame of the situation because this is not new to me and it was so important to me to be able to understand what I was doing wrong and learn how to fix me, -the me that has been rejected like this before, the me that has frightened people away before, the me that I was thinking was likely tied to some of the problems my brain had created unknowingly in it's initial rather unassisted recovery from TBI...- I would have taken the fall for those mistakes and I did, but the perpetuation of harm and the denials of any wrongdoing or mistakes on their part, the unwillingness to even follow through with the help they had offered AND help they were legally and ethically obligated to follow through on, I am not willing to take the blame for.
And once again a main point that I remembered and realized is why I so desperately needed them to talk with me and to allow me the opportunity to clear this mistake up: It was a repeat of so many patterns and of so many misconceptions of me that, without clearing up, absolutely confirmed all the negatives, all my failings and shortcomings, AND they were telling me I was not worth there time, I was not worth saving and/or I was unsalvageable; the professionals, the experts.
I have had to be pretty damned determined to prove to myself that they are wrong.
Aaaahhh thus the blog. thus the obsessive writing and processing, thus the determination to turn this suffering into something meaningful. It has to be. Or I am not.
And if I am not
then what?
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