In about six weeks,I'll be welcoming two new babies into the house. Surprise surprise I'm going to be a mother to two little balls of fluff- one a pale cream colour the other brown- sporting two long ears and a fluffy tale with a serious addiction to hay, carrots and pellets!
My mother saw an advert at the local shopping centre for dwarf rabbits. We went to see them the day before yesterday They were the size of my palm and very tempting to squeeze. I've always wanted a rabbit- my sister and I had bunnies when we were little. That lasted until our landlord's Jack Russell decided to have them for lunch- literally
One of the ideas that has kept up coming in my support group is that owning and loving a pet is very therapeutic for people with mental illness. I'm hoping to add a kitten to my fluffy family (it will learn to love the rabbits!)
On a different note yesterday was my first session of Cognitive behavioral therapy. I think my zombie- like behaviour at home had more of an effect on my mom than I thought- she phoned my support group counsellor who recommended a psychologist specializing in CBT and made an emergency appointment. Only after did she tell my godfather who agreed. I was bit surprised at their efficiency, they are so used to my moods by now that I had thought they might have gotten to the stage when nothing shocks them anymore.
The psyhcologist asked my mother to join us for the first session to shed some light on my childhood history and to teach her relaxation exercises to do with me. I immediately knew this was useless because a) I remember my childhood in most cases better than both my parents- this has been proved time and time again and b) my mom would never have the time or even remember the exercises she was supposed to do with me. So I started off the hour being really irritated at having to deliver yet another monologue about my childhood, teenage years blah blah, while I watched my mom's eyes glaze over at having to sit through the same old story yet again. I don't know if it is essential that a parent or partner be there for the first session but maybe it would be a better idea for the psychologist to schedule a separate appointment to full in the blanks.
The psychologist was a very nice, sweet lady- very positive. I was immediately aware of her enforcing the Cognitive behavioural therapy. She challenged ALL my thinking and took EVERYTHING I said and turned it around into the positive. E.g Me:"I feel like part of me died after my breakdown" (that's the best way I can describe it) Dr: "Do you really think that it is possible for part of you to die?". After describing each traumatic event she would be sympathetic and start rationalizing it. What I've told her is just the tip of a very, very large ice burg- I'm really going to be putting her to work- she ain't seen nothing yet!! :).
The session flew by, generally the sessions are supposed to have a time limit- I would think because it is bloody exhausting. Truly after an hour of her turning around everything I was saying, I was ready to scream, "Just let me feel sorry for myself dammit!" The big emphasis is on SELF- HELP, they give you homework to do!. My homework this week was to go for one walk a day and keep a diary of everything I saw. We have just moved to a house on another farm and- until I discover some more- there are only two walks- each about 5 minutes long. I'm not exactly sure what I'm supposed to journal about. On my walk today I saw a pigeon...then another one. I suddenly realised that an online author I am following had probably updated her story, so I ran all the way home (it is a VERY good story)...that was my walk.
Tomorrow I have my appointment with the church counsellor, who is praying for healing for me.So right now I'm seeing a state psychiatrist, going to a support group every two weeks, am on medication, seeing a church counsellor and finally have a proper psychologist. I have all the tools I need to help me get better. The rest is up to me.
And that's what I am afraid of. A month ago- even two weeks ago I would have the drive I needed but right now the-the selfish cow that I am- I just don't feel like I have the energy that I need to work towards healing. I was so tired sitting in that psychologist's office. I felt like a hundred years old being forced to walk down the same path again. I have always been eager when starting treatment- thinking that finally this will be a chance to get better. In the end either money would run out or the state health care would mess up putting a stop to all those treatments. It's like I'm cursed. How can I stop feeling this way?
I'm also having to really trust my godfather and my mother- who hold the financial and emotional keys to my treatment. You could say they are the matriarch and patriarch of a messed up family full of needs. As my Dad put it, "The loudest bark gets the most attention". This time it is my bark that got the attention, but there are other people in the family- some of them children- that are in desperate need as well. I feel guilty for the precious kids and angry that I am being lumped together with all the adults in our family who messed up and are now wanting charity.
It's past 2am and I need to attempt to go to sleep. I have no idea who is reading this blog. I know a lot of people aren't right now because I'm not exactly promoting it. But I have found that it is cathartic to write on here. And the possibly that someone may read this is a motivation to write :)