I really should update more, writing is good therapy supposedly.
Anyway I have a new counsellor I’m more than halfway through my allotted 6 sessions of NHS time, which is apparently sufficient to sort out a whole life time of fucked uped ness. Budgetary concerns trump humanity.
My new counsellor is, quite frankly, a bit crazy. In a good way, I like him. He says I am intelligent and feel out of place because I do not buy into the ‘robotic’ nature of society, I resisit. Which is all very well but how do you deal with that when you do feel so out of place? When it feels like the world operates on a set of rules that are morally abhorrent to you? Add on always being picked on for being ‘the wierd kid’ (even by supposed friend’s in thier 20s who saw fit to chastise me for my choice of eco friendly washing powder and ethical bank, no wonder that friendship ended, badly.) feeling alienated and wondering if you’ve been put here by mistake. And a whole adolescence full of shit hitting various types of cooling devices.
I’m not sure I’ll ever feel I fit in anywhere so the key is acceptance I suppose. I’m working on it, I’m trying to meditate again; very interesting when the voices in your head are ranting on at you, I’m beginning to worry if these are more than just an inner monologue and maybe I should be worried about it, especially when your inner monologue is telling you it’s god and you should ‘look at the bread’ (am I going even crazier or do I just have an overactive imagination and hypochondria, is it ok to have longer conversations with your inner monologue? can it even be a monologue if you converse with it?). Though on the plus side ‘god’ is nice to me not like the other inner monologue folks who seem hell bent on my self destruction. Maybe I should check my meds side effects again. Or maybe I’m just a hypochondriac with an overactive imagination. I’m trying to be more connected, more holistic.
My Grandmother, my last grandparents, died on Sunday. I was there. I have never seen anyone die before, it was oddly subdued. It was peacful which I am glad of but it just seems such an anti climax really, the way death is always seen as this big scary looming thing, not something which just happens so quietly and with little fuss. So needless to say my emotions are more confused than normal. Loss is a strange thing, especially of someone who was so close yet at the same time so far. For the last few years she suffered dementia and didn’t really know who I was or where she was or what year it was so in some ways it felt like she was already gone. Yet inheritance is an odd thing; I look so much like she did when she was younger, I have inheritied the crazy hair; which reminds me of Heathcliff, Yorkshire side of the family you see; plus it’s dark, crazy, coarse and unwilling to be tamed. Again a sign I read too much. My Granny once pulled out a lock of her hair from god knows how many years ago that she had kept in a drawer (I am also loathe throwing things away incase they are ‘useful’ one day) and held it next to mine to compare. It also feels like another part of my childhood dying; the house I grew up in has been bulldozed and is now a block of flats which makes me sad when I think of it. I suppose childhood was the last time I was actually properly ‘happy’, and even then I’m not sure, it fees like I’ve been dysfunctional my whole life. As Elizabeth Wurtzel puts it in Prozac Nation, it’s as if I was broken on the assembly line.
The whole thing is just so confusing, trying to ‘re programme’ myself to love and respect myself , not to self destruct and hate myself, whilst questioning the whole god/afterlife/death/cosmos/vague ‘spirituality’ thing. Also questioning the whole ‘can I really re programme myself?’ if depression is a chemical imbalance can I really just wish it away?