The problem is Italy

December 3, 2018 7:45am. The appointment was scheduled for 7:30.
"I'm surprised to see you" he says
"The problem is Italy" I say "I am supposed to take my kids in a week and I need to make sure that I am stable. I need to make sure I am okay."
"I meant everything that I said" he said.
"We agreed to a clean break" he says
"There is no such thing as a clean break from my side of this" I say and I know that so many of the things he said were neither confirmed nor denied but rather implied, so how do I know what he really meant? It was open to interpretation and I was not in my right mind. That much I knew. Which meant that my interpretation was not likely accurate.

The rest of that day, that conversation was me fighting for me and trying to understand but also be okay enough to take my kids to Italy in a week. It would be just me and them for the first 10 days, I needed to be okay, which meant I couldn't hear the things that started to hurt too much... and maybe I was protecting him, fighting for him too. I couldn't let him say and/or I couldn't hear what could get him most in trouble.

But Dr. Cheri was not interested in my best interest; he was most concerned about himself. Protecting himself, no matter the cost to me. At least that is how I feel now. It was obvious then that he had lost objectivity and that something had gone amiss but I did not realize just how unconcerned he was with my wellbeing and how willing he was to sacrifice me to protect himself; a false assumption on his part, likely fed and/or guided by ill founded rules, policies and procedures that he felt obligated to follow or that he knew he could utilize to cover his ass.
In waking up, these realizations are hard hitting and difficult to maneuver. Yet I am supposed to, alone and branded. That is one thing. And I think I can, think I am, just to be hit again and again, by symptoms, by realizations, by psychology, by relationships, and by reality.

And now these are coming in the mail. A reminder that I was not okay. I was not as responsible and my mind was... something else... while in Italy. I had forgotten about their driving rules and the typical time that would have been spent preparing and researching was spent trying to stabilize and understand what was happening to my head and my heart and why I was behaving like I was manic.
I needed help.
and I asked for it.
I begged for it.
I was turned away
in the most heartfelt and yet heartless way.
How is that even possible?
I don't know, but it sure as hell hurts again.
And the gold that he left me came at far too high a price. Maybe I would opt to give it back if I could.

...I want you out of my heart.
You are costing me so much
and you are tearing it apart,
even still.

Indulgence

I have many thoughts. a lot of the time. and my old therapist, who broke me, and then was a total jerk about it, and even had me exiled from the very place and help I needed, who may have been manipulating me, who definitely took advantage of my caring, and who let me know in the most solid way I am not worth his time or energy, but whom I oddly still care about and strangely trust on some level told me to balance my thinking with doing. That is not exactly how he said it and in fact a friend that I briefly had, may deserve to be credited more, so in this silly over processing moment I hope I can see a way to redirect my thoughts from terrible beloved old therapist to other places and other sources so that my heart can more completely heal from the hole that he left in it when he said I could keep him there and then took himself away before finishing the work I had paid him for.
Which actually transitions right into the real reason I came to write today.
Indulgence
I am learning a lot still about therapy and therapeutic relationships and I am sure it is not terribly surprising that I am skeptical and not too trusting of the whole industry right now. As part of training for my job the therapist that I now work for had me listen to some podcasts. As I am listening, trying to learn for the sake of doing my job I am so bitterly reminded of the mess I am coming from and it is a bit of a challenge. They were good and informative podcasts, but I also see some problems.
One of the issues I have is this sense of safety, security, acceptance, non judgment etc, that a person is supposed to get from therapy. It is supposed to be there safe place where they can confess all of themselves and become their true self, with the loving nurturing acceptance of the therapist. The crap their parents screwed up on and their parents parents screwed up on, that they all didn't really screw up on because they also need this divine therapeutic acceptance... So nobody is really at fault as long as we are working to achieve self and get in touch with our own truth... with a therapist of course. That part is crucial, you know. we need their acceptance.
and there is something to this
yet there is some crossover her and even some hypocrisy
and lets not forget
$
It all comes at a price. You get the acceptance and non judgement, but only for a price.
Are you following?
It is beginning to feel something like the indulgences of the Middle Ages
Yet I am going still, to therapists. Is this an indulgence for penance? Will I break another therapist?
Will I ruin more relationships with my questioning of this industry and it's integrity?
You tell me.
I think the balance is tricky
Am I paying for healing
or is this indulgence?

...If I keep you in the shards of my broken heart you are not likely to come out unscathed.

keeping my head above...

Very occasionally this blog gets read. I don't really know by who or why, But I will say it is just enough to keep me going at times.
I am struggling.
The only thing keeping me here, physically here, today is my kids.
 I don't want to screw them up
I don't want them to believe that they weren't enough.

and I don't really feel like writing anything else. Which is why I am. I don't think my feelings can be especially trusted right now. so I'll write and see what comes out
Sleep is my safe place.
and that is what I want to do again
I am mad at my family.
 I am hurt and I feel isolated and alone.
I feel like the more I try the worse I make things
I give up
too much
I try to numb with tv and stupid games on phones
Kids do that to
too much.
Control is an illusion
we have none.
And yet so very much
I think I'll go run now because that is at least something I can do that will help me in some way.
While it also breaks me apart at the knees.
Building bones while breaking me down.
But I learned, I think from my physical therapist, that hard core female athletes have the bones of 70 year olds because their bones are reabsorbing the calcium, but exercise and weight bearing exercises also build bones.
Balance can be so tricky.
good night again