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trust me?

spell check still diabled. dog nmad blogger.

We’ve been studying hard all day for the stupid American Lit test with the psychotic, meanie professor on Monday. He is a jerk and no body likes him. I got some stuff at Walmart to make bracelets today and when every one is done writing and studying then i get to make them. Rebecca asked d. to help us. he said he would. hopefully tomorrow we’ll have some cool bracelets to wear.

The issue of trust has been on our mind a lot today, every since the psycho-trisist asked if we would trust her enough to call her if our suicidal thoughts escalated or we felt close to acting on our thoughts. She asked why we hadn’t told Randy why we’ve been feeling more suicidal and that was when the issue of trust came up. It’s not that we don’t trust him; there is a surgace level of trust there, but not one that we feel is needed to grow, expand, and give him every thing we have so that we can get better. It’s a good question: why wouldn’t you tell your therapist you are seriously thinking of killing yourself, to the point you have a plan and note? I know for some of us, we don’t want hospitalization, though, if truth be known and all cards are on the table, some do want to go to the hospital. Why, I don’t know. I think because one of the only times in our life we felt safe and like people cared about our well-being and we didn’t have to worry about the finances of the bill was when we were first hospitalized in 1992 and some want that back. Some want to go to the hospital, get better, feel cared for, and get it over. But we didn’t tell Randy because others don’t want to go to the hospital. We feel like a failure all over again for just having the feelings and dealing with food issues again. It’s a major part of why we are always sad: guilt. We shouldn’t be here.

Conversations have casually been made with D. but he is so f*ing clueless. He doesn’t seem worried, which is good. But arrangements had to be made for music, cremation, who could attend, what he would do with the money, what he wouldn’t do with the money, the issue of remarriage, and how he would get on with his life. He could finally get the boxer he always wanted. When it was discussed few tears were involved. It was like a business transaction. He even said he would understand. I reassured him there was nothing he could have said or done to stop it.

Why am I saying this? We hold it all in. What needs to be said never gets said for fear of everything. We don’t want to hear how we are painting someone into a corner when all they care is losing their license. And it’s dawned on us we’ve trusted Randy more than any of the other therapists we’ve seen, and that is saying a freakin* lot. There have been so many psychiatrists, therapists, counselors, social workers, nurses, and resident techs that it is beyond count. And out of all, Randy is the one we trust the most but can’t submit to completely. And if there was a pill we could take, a class we could take (how to trust your therapist you’ve been seeing for ? years) we’d do it. What would get us over the hump? Is it not enough therapy? Is it too much therapy? Are we just incapable of trust? (it can happen) Are we too self-conscious? Do we care what he thinks too much? (NOOOOOO!!!!) Why can’t Sheila talk in her Jamaican accent? Why can’t Victoria speak in her British accent? Why can’t the littles come out completely without a body guard? (Tina) All they why’s tell it’s not happening, especially after so long. Three years is a long time, isn’t it? Hasn’t it been three years? I’ve lost count. We are no better. I hear the arguement he would give, which is another reason we don’t talk. But his opinion makes us feel like shit gone sour, and that’s pretty fucking bad. i’ve lost my whole thought and my mind with it.

I get angry at someone like Britney Spears who has people all over the place fighting to get her the treatment she needs. And, even as I say that, I realize what a hypocrite I am when someone tells us we are painting him into a corner (God I hate it why IIIIIII have to fucking say it. Blah!!) Isn’t that someone fighting for us? What is the poem we wrote? I don’t know. We wrote a poem about years ago that if we don’t shape up we would be carried off in a body bag. They would find our ashes and “HELP” us into the garbage bin. Maybe that’s the only help we deserve.

Look, man. sometin’ aint’ workin’. we need more or less. and ain’t nobody sure what to do. it’s all ’bout ‘da trust. ya’ either got it or ya’ don’t. and, man, ‘ya don’t.

we have nothing but a gaping whole and a need and a feeling that we better run the hell the other way. D. said not to put too much emphasis on graduating, even though we are this close. it feels like if we don’t burn ourselves out and fake it till people “THINK” we’ve made it we will lose everything. who wants a cutter, anorexic, bulimic, psycho to teach their children. but the thing is we would make a damn good teacher. maybe i should jest be a writer. everyone says we are good at writing. you woudn’t know it from this crazy blog because it is incongruous and you never know who is speaking. the blog is rabid.

i hate writings like this because they only highlight the problem and never give a clear answer, or the answer I want. the answer i have may not be the answer that will bring us what we need. maybe that’s okay. what will be will be, and that can’t be changed. i can’t automatically have members trusting. Randy said something, hard to remember, about running to the anxiety? he’s not prepared for that. we can barely tolerate running away because it’s fucking chasing us. it’s written all into our writing class. anxiety is on the sylluus for fucking sake. it’s one of the criteria. you fail the class if you don’t have a complete meltdown which means i’ve passed several times over. laugh if you want. it’s so close to the truth.

i jest but the elephant is still in the room. trust: how to give it, how to get it. all i know is something has to give. something different must be done. i hate change and can’t believe i’m saying it. i’m all for self-destruction but if there is to be any hope for the littles this will not continue. we managed self-contained before our first private session with Randy. He didn’t even know we had D.I.D., if that is indeed what we have, until he was told about two previous dr.’s dx’ing it to us. maybe i’m not giving him his due credit; i do that often. but we managed fine. life wasn’t perfect but it’s not perfect now.

trust. such an ambiguous word. a looming concept. and after almost twenty years of therapy we still haven’t mastered it. trust, to me, i speak for only myself, is being able to share your heart, soul, thoughts, fears, feelings, anxieties, and everything and anything in between with someone. am i wrong on trust. is this the worng definition? i don’t even know what trust is. how can i show it if i don’t even have a concept of it?

trust or not, i feel guilty and ashamed of these feelings. there’s so much more but i don’t “trust” anyone enough to lay it out. add it up.

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1 thought on “trust me?”

  1. Glad I’m not the only one having trouble with the darn spell-check feature. I rely on it way too much.

    I can’t help with the trust thing – I’m the same way. I’ll email my T help messages but not call her, even though I should. It’s harder for me to trust in person (or on phone) than in writing.

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