The Blogtastic Blogfest That Is Getmeoutofthis.net!

Today I am going to see my psychologist, and I’m kind of dreading it.

I just feel like I’m in a weird place in my relationship with her. There was a time when she was a huge help, a huge motivator, and a huge balancing force in my life. I needed to go and see her and talk to her. I had lists of things to talk to her about every week, and often didn’t get to them all. I then got to a point where I needed her for other reasons. I needed her to help me get on hormones, get things started, make sure I’m not forgetting anything dumb about transitioning, and be there as a guide to answer questions.

Now, I don’t know why I go. I have to wrack my brain for things to talk about that I actually want to talk about. I mostly just end up telling her about significant things I did, which, I mean, I already kind of do here with you, blog, so that seems a bit unnecessary. It’s just this formality, for the most part, that costs me quite a lot of money and quite a lot of time.

Occasionally, I do have something I want to really talk about, but more and more, I am finding it to be something that I have trouble doing. Bringing up things I find important feels difficult to do, because in a lot of ways, I feel like the sort of things I am bringing up now are things that she does not agree with. We’ll often get into conversations where she will stop me in the middle of a story I’m telling, and tell me how I should have done it, before I tell her about the outcome I got that I am very happy with. I often feel like I am put on trial, in a sense, having to somehow justify decisions I should not have to justify. It just feels awkward, in a space where I’m supposed to feel safe to speak my mind, to feel like I have to hold back how I feel or somehow temper it to sound like something she can support. I mean, it’s not like I’m talking about unhealthy things here. It’d be different if I was talking about something that was causing me harm. But it’s not that sort of stuff. I mean, like, we had a conversation about polyamory, and she is clearly pretty against it. But that’s a thing I’m doing and, frankly, with Aesa moving here and everything getting crazy, is the big thing on my mind right now. But now I feel like I can’t talk about it to some extent. I mean, I don’t feel ashamed about my decisions, and the relationships I am in. Fuck no. I just really rather hate confrontation. If I have to defend myself, why am I even going? If this isn’t a place where I can relax and talk about my problems and feelings, what’s the purpose? If the thing that’s supposed to help deal with my stress and problems is creating stress and problems, what’s the point? I kind of don’t know.

My psychologist is an awesome person. I have nothing but respect for her, and I would recommend her to anyone needing the sort of help I needed. But… well, I said to Kale the other day something along the lines of this: I am finally, truly feeling that my life is less a desperate run from disaster and despair on a day to day basis and more something I am establishing that I can be proud of. It shocked me to say that. It shocked me to say I felt I was on sure footing. But I am, for once. I can do this without that help now. I really believe that. I want to move on and live my life.

That’s it. That’s what this is. This is a tie that makes it clear where I’ve come from. This is a reminder of how much of a failure I was, of how much of a mess. I go there, and I feel like that mess again, and I leave, and I feel better to be away from it. I want to lose that connection. I want to finally just fucking be myself, without strings and caveats. I want to live a life that’s mine. I want to move on. I’ve seriously fucking forgotten what life was like before in a lot of ways, and I am so fucking glad I am at that point where I can forget how terrible I felt. But she is a constant reminder that I was not well, may still not be well. She makes me feel like I haven’t succeeded, not because of anything bad or wrong or disagreeable that she’s doing, but just because of what the memories connected to being there bring up in myself. It’s a 5 hour process of reminding myself that I’m broken, when I no longer feel that way the majority of the time.

Talking about this stuff can help. But goodness, I wonder how I explain all THAT to her.