The Crying Game

....and I ain't talking about the movie.

I cried today during therapy.

Damnit. I didn't want to cry, I was fighting it by biting on my lip, avoiding her eyes, and pausing to catch my breath. But as soon as my lip began to quiver I knew the dame was going to bust and the tears came tumbling down soon after

I HATE CRYING. More than anyone could ever know. I find it embarrassing and feel like my vulnerability is showing through. I feel like I should have better control over my emotions and feelings, and I especially hate doing it in front of people. I feel weak, insecure, and like a baby. I hate that feeling.

It was going well, I think, before I started crying.

I'm a little confused by the whole "talk about whatever" thing. I wonder where the resolution will come into play. I assumed on some level, I would present my problem to her, and she would fix it, and then all would be right with my world. But I guess the whole purpose is for me to fix myself, so me to patch up the cracks in my wall.

Behind the happy disposition I feel like she can feel and see the underlying pain, and it makes it very difficult for me to stop...Talking. I feel like she is trained to see past any bull, and though I mentally line up topics that I want to discuss with her (boys, academics, my dad) I end up reaching way down into my soul and pulling up what I never knew was there.

So as I take my seat I begin to talk about the house I drew. Though I thought it was a crappy picture that I sketched last minute, she said it was surprisingly pretty especially in regard to it being anxiety. I never thought about it that way.

She really wanted to know all about the house I drew. Why the roof was a certain way, what my favorite room was, and all this stuff. We ran with the house metaphor and she bounced ideas off of my head that I had never thought of before. The main point being that it was fascinating that I had drew and described my love of castles and Tudor houses, especially if I was the only inhabitant. That a house so overwhelming and full of echoes in which I reside could be a lot to handle.

Interesting. Then she asked about my writing, commenting that my stuff was really powerful, and if it was difficult to read it to her. This is the beginning of the tearful event. I said it was easier to read it to then it was writing it down. That I surprised myself with what I uncovered.

I made a comment along the way that I could never read this to my mother,and that's when the crying came on. I don't even know why, but instantly I said I felt she would be devastated if she ever read what I had written. That I would exposed as a liar, that the content, put together facade would all come crumbling down and then I would be exposed for a vulnerable broken girl. And I couldn't disappoint her. It would devastate me to no end.

I don't know where that came from. But I couldn't contain the tears, and I had to look away because I feared what she would think of me. I was afraid I had ruined a perfectly good session with my tearful dribble. After being handed a tissue I regained my composure and my session went on from there.

The tearful moment was never far from my mind though.

We then went on to discuss Validation. I said that sometimes I needed to be reminded of my self worth in people's lives. That there are many moments I feel like I am not important, but that on some level I think I may be selfish to seek validation. She said that that statement made her feel sad. Is that suppose to happen? I am suppose to make the therapist feel sad? She said that validation was a basic human need, and the fact that I felt it was shameful to want that spoke volumes to things eating at me. We then went on to talk about validation and I why I felt didn't deserve though I want it so bad.

If anything when I come out of therapy completely have a realization of not only the physical tension of anxiety but a mental tension of it. It's a a tug and push game I am playing with it. In respect to my house it is a place where I reside that offers me comfort but a place that I also don't want to be. I am stuck in between a place of needing/wanting/yearning acceptant but meeting it with resistance. I am comfortable and not comfortable all in the same place. I am the house of anxiety. A big beautiful palace, with a lot of room but whose doors are firmly locked.

And she asked me a question which I had never thought of: "You say you have become resentful of the house, what does it lack that makes you not want to be there anymore"

I don't know why I hadn't thought of that. Why don't I want to be there? she wanted me to throw whatever popped into my head. And all I can think of was

ME:" even though the house of anxiety is huge and nice and full of everything a girl could need, it's missing those small knicks and dents, scratches and marks on the walls and carpet that lets you know someone lives there. It doesn't have a smell, it's like an Ikea magazine. Everything is in it's place and perfect, but a home is suppose to have a window that won't open all the way, a door you have to tug to open, and a chip in the wall. This house doesn't have it, and it's annoying. It doesn't have a presence"

I am exhausted from an hour of talking, and am afraid of opening pandora's box. I don't know if I will be able to handle what all comes out of it. I question if I am strong enough to get better, because today I just vulnerable, and in desperate need of cocoa.

See this is why I need a boyfriend. So after therapy I could be like "CUDDLEFEST" and cuddle to music from iTunes. My head would rest on his chest as he stroked my hair, and we wouldn't even have to say anything, just be there. Together. Undercovers and cuddling. Instead all I have is this stupid stuffed frog, who I snuggle up with a night. He doesn't steal the covers though. That's a plus.