poeticdesires

Category: Doc

  • Settling

    “Because you don’t require a commitment for you to be in their lives, they never had to make a decision with you. In your effort to avoid the pain of rejection you have this other painful feeling [of never having tried].”

    Twice, less than a month apart actually, I learned two people I care for started relationships with someone else. These persons are about as diametrically opposed as two people can be.  Two different races, jobs, and completely different personalities.    

    What do these two have in common? Towards the beginning of my interactions with them, they gave me almost identical statements: I am not in a position to have a relationship right now. I don’t want a relationship right now. I can offer you friendship.

    In both instances I accepted their statements and tried to build some connection in the constraints given.

    Yet, as I sit here on my bed, about an hour and a half before I jaunt off to work, I can’t help but note that the one thing they have in common is me not being in a relationship with either of them while they just started new ones with someone else.

    I spoke to one friend about this situation; their conclusion was they both were full of shit and what they really should have said was, “I don’t want a relationship with you.” Obviously this hurt to hear, but since anger is an emotion I often quell, and I’m suppose to be allowing myself to feel and acknowledge my emotions, it rang true.

    But when I spoke to another friend, they had a different, though similar, view.

    Both of my friends pointed out that I settle. I know I settle. It is a bad habit that has plagued me far too long.

    My second friend put it a different way. I don’t make others commit. I have a network of people I care for; from no one do I require an iota of title or formal negotiation. I allow a lot of people into my life without asking much, if anything.

    So, sitting here, typing away on my netbook, this is when my footloose and fancy free nature gets me fucked. Because, if I am completely and totally honest with myself, I can say that I care deeply for both of these people who (cliche coming) dropped the bomb on me.

    Of course I cannot blame either of them for the way I am feeling. I brought this all on myself.

    I brought this all on myself.

    I.  Brought this.  All.  On.  Myself.

    I didn’t make them choose. I didn’t ask for a commitment. I didn’t ask for anything. They had me without ever having to choose, to commit, to make a decision. I am in their lives with little effort on their parts.

    If I don’t ask for what I want, how am I ever suppose to get it?

    Ah, but here is the real rub: I didn’t know what I wanted until I didn’t have it, until it was no longer a possibility.

    During my last session with Doc, the subject of a person I will call Zed came up. When I was younger, Zed and I were friends, talking a lot on the phone, and spending lots of time together.

    Because of life, I had to move away from Zed; our friendship waned. When I came back to visit, I learned Zed had started a new relationship. It took me a year to tell Zed how I felt that day.

    I cried alone in the car with the window down and the rain pouring in as I sped, too fast, on the interstate. I sobbed, hard. I pulled away from Zed more. Still, even as I write this, my eyes water.

    I didn’t know I was in love with Zed until I could no longer have Zed (they are not poly and I hadn’t even heard of the term at the time).

    Today Zed is happy, and though their happiness comes from being with someone else, I am still very happy for them.

    It is hard for me to articulate, or even realize, what I want until I can’t have it.

    And that’s not to say I want a huge-monogamous-this-is-it commitment from either of those two; I’m fairly certain I don’t want that from anyone, in fact. But when you open with “I don’t want a relationship right now, nor am I looking for one,” yet somehow you find it with someone who isn’t me, I feel shitty.

    I made an assumption.  I didn’t take a leap.  I accepted.  I settled.

    People don’t need to commit to me to be a part of my life. This gives me a lot of connections, but the ground under my feet never feels solid. I’m always afraid they will just stop being a part of my life.

    I don’t ask for the commitment because I fear they will say no, and yet I still live in the constant fear that, instead of hearing “the no”, they will just stop being there.

    In my avoidance of pain, I’ve woven a web of even more sorrow.

    God, this emotional shit sucks. I need to stop doing that.

    I need to stop settling.

  • My Swirly Brain

    Our brains are funny things. In our attempts to avoid pain, we can in fact cause more anguish.

    In my last session with Doc, we ended up talking about my father, a lot. I have mixed emotions surrounding my Dad. I love him, but some of his choices for my life were not the best.

    Okay no, they were downright shitty.

    I never lived with my father, and though we love each other our relationship is strained. I do not know how to act or just be around him. He is like an acquaintance I’ve met many times but never got to know. And yet half of my DNA comes from this 82 year old man.

    Doc talked about, regardless of the words said, we learn how to be mostly from the situation we are raised in. I learned from my parents that love is distant. I learned that it is normal to not be as important.

    Doc pointed out how, though I’ve never been “the other woman”, my past relationships still made me feel that way.

    The promise of change in the future. Emotional distance, even though we cohabited. Taking up most of the burdens, though I was suppose to be working with a partner.

    I didn’t want to admit it, haven’t wanted to admit it for my adult life, but my Dad neglected me. I was not important enough to live with him, to see him everyday, to know him as more than just a twice yearly card and Saturday visits with my brother.

    Doc talked about how adults with absentee parents have self worth issues. Ding Ding Ding.

    Though never intended, I was taught I was worth less than my brothers, worth less than others. This has traveled with me into adulthood, manifesting itself in my relationships, both large and small.

    If someone brings up the subject of my emotions, beyond just the cursory “How are you doing”, I will talk for maybe a few minutes, but then change the subject. I know there is more I need to talk about, more I want to talk about, but the voice in my head tells me I’ve spent too much time on myself and must now attend to the person listening, for surely their troubles are worse than mine, are more important than mine.

    If I am struggling with a problem, full of a difficult emotion, I often push it down, waiting for a moment to be alone. I then let it out, sobbing into my pillow, or quietly in a restroom stall, my head against the metal wall, my hands over my eyes, my chest convulsing. Doc calls this Stuff & Blow.

    Of course the worst part is when my emotions are centered around a specific person. I always hold back, keep quiet, trying to wait for an opportune time to express how I’m feeling to them. Of course, and Doc caught this immediately, there is never an opportune time.  Thus my words are almost always left unsaid.

    During a recent poly workshop, the presenter talked about how it is important to communicate honestly and constantly. Talk to your partner about any and everything, so that when the big things come up you have already had practice and your partner will be open to hearing you, thus avoiding the “We need to talk” grave conversation starter.

    This idea is lovely…for those who have partners. But for a freelancer like myself, communicating with EVERYONE I have played with, am friends with, feel emotionally connected to, have close ties with, just so that one day when I need to talk to them about my swirly brain… Yeah.

    There are precious little resources for poly slutty singles like myself, beyond Doc’s and friends.

    So, yeah, working on it.

    Doc had me do a homework after our first session. He asked me to list all the ways I’ve lost in my life, be it emotional, financial, opportunities large and small. What I found was that as I listed all the things I lost out on, mentioning my parents actions some but mostly through my own doing, my avoidance of the pain I could’ve felt was much worse than the actual pain possible.

    Reinforcing my self worth issues makes me feel even more worthless. Not talking about my emotions only digs the knife deeper into my heart.

    So, yeah, working on it.

    I’m trying to not push my feelings aside. I’m trying to not tell myself I am less important. I’m trying to put myself first.

    Because, if I don’t, who else will?

  • Stigma

    “Feelings are not facts.” – Doc, on my need to put others first because if I don’t I feel like a bad person. 

    He subsequently pointed out that often the ways we use to avoid pain in fact cause us more pain; my putting others first only reinforces my belief that I am worth less than others, i.e. a bad person.

    Recently I chatted with a coworker as we ate a meal during our break. They confessed to me that they were contemplating seeking couples counseling, citing issues with communication and resulting arguments.

    Previously, I had mentioned that I recently started therapy. My coworker felt the need to have me promise to not divulge their thoughts with anyone we knew. (My coworker is not kinky, and does not read this blog.)

    When I spoke to a second coworker, citing how happy I was that I had started therapy, they asked me why I even sought out the help. I told them how it was difficult for me to express my emotions. They pointed out how I spoke to them about how I was feeling. I agreed; I spoke to them, but who else?

    It is easy for me to talk with this second coworker. Our lives only intertwine at work. I feel comfortable with them, having bit-by-bit revealed parts of myself with no blow black. But I would like to be comfortable talking to anyone about my feelings. I want to be open and honest not just about all the hot kinky sex and play in my life, but also the undercurrent, the inner most workings influencing me.

    It never occurred to me how much of a stigma around psychotherapy still exists. In my opinion, seeing a therapist should be on the same level as seeing your general practitioner. Medical help is medical help.

    Why do we as a culture ignore an entire part of our health and well being?

    In just two sessions, I see the effects my upbringing has had on my adult life, how my parents have influenced the way I operate, my emotional struggles, and the pent up revelations I don’t allow out.

    Two sessions. In two hours I have felt better than years of talking with my friends and writing in my various journals have ever made me.

    So no, I am not ashamed I see a therapist. I know I need to seek counseling. I believe everyone could benefit from a healthy dose of reality reflected in your face.

    I am happy to sacrifice a day’s pay to sit in a room with a professional, and for an hour talk through the maze that is my head. Frankly, I believe it is a small price to pay.

    I have lived twenty-eight years believing the bullshit I tell myself. But, in short order, my therapist has helped me recognize that my anger towards my parents is justified, and that neglect has a lasting emotional impact worse than physical abuse. My two hours with my therapist have been invaluable.

    So yeah, today with the Doc went well. And, if you wish to, don’t be afraid to get your own.

  • Nerves

    I leave in about an hour for my first session with my new therapist, who I will henceforth call Doc.

    I am nervous.

    The last time I tried therapy it was… not a resounding success.

    I will say that she got me thinking. She tried to get me to be more forthcoming with my emotions in my relationship with the Ex instead of bottling it all up and waiting for it to erupt at a most inopportune time.

    But then she lectured me about my weight. So no, I cannot say we were a good fit.

    Because that really matters when you spend an hour at a time talking to someone about the most intimate details of yourself. I’m about to open up my head to a man I have never met.

    As a person who finds it difficult to easily communicate my emotions with others because I view them as less than, view myself as less than, expect that I should put everyone before myself, believe that I am suppose to be the easy going friend anyone can turn to without having to worry about how I am feeling… spending a hour with someone talking about nothing but my emotions…

    Yeah, this is going to be interesting.

    There is a lot of shit swirling in my head, some of it occurring just yesterday.

    In my old therapy sessions, I brought a notebook and took notes. I don’t think that’s shocking to anyone. I bought a new little notebook for Doc’s sessions. It’s navy blue.

    I actually stood in Staples and had a conversation with myself about the color. Gray couldn’t work because I have a friend with that name. Black couldn’t work because it seems too morbid, as if I expected to fail. Red was just as bad, evoking thoughts of blood and ripping my heart out. So I chose blue, because though my mind could say it is how I feel, it could also be what I don’t want to feel anymore, hence the work, the sessions, the effort.

    I have an odd mind.

    I opened my netbook this morning, hoping to write about the next section of my last night at Frolicon. It involved two hot people, some rope, punching, and a word I didn’t think I would get to say anytime soon.

    Sorry, but you folks will have to wait just a little bit longer for that.