The Sandbox

Amnesia, Art, Healing

1/16/19

6:54AM

Authenticity

Four creatures. One I’ve got a crush on. All made in the new Sierra Gold clay. Today I work in Freckle Sculpture mix. 

A

We are flowing, understanding and daylighting. An integration of all three where as before one was a good deal more dominant. 

S

I think this is truth. 

A

And therapy?

S

I need to keep Teresa more in the loop. It feels like she’s back in the Sandbox Stone ages. She’s lost. 

T

Uh, we need to work on your anger. 

S

See? I’m in a different world and whirl. You’re in the easy therapist grab—"let’s work on your anger" or "How does it feel to have me witness you?"-- kind of spaces.  

T

You don’t respect me. I won’t tolerate that. 

S

It’s not that I don’t respect you. It’s that we are working at different paces. And in different places. We are missing each other. 

T

Well I don’t miss you—not one bit. Once you leave my den you are out of my mind for good. And, I believe, since you have little in the way of transference towards me, I am not on your mind either. 

S

You’re upset about that. 

T

Duh. 

S

Well I can’t help it. Eileen ruined me for you. But I think you are insecure—I think you bring your insecurity to the therapy—your own personal brand of it. I can feel it. 

T

I know you do. And I hate you for it. And I love you for it. You get under my skin and make me itch with counter transference. 

S

A? I hate this transcript—I do not want to dialogue with the T-doll. 

A

Breathe. And tell what you are feeling. 

S

I feel on automatic. That I could bat this same tennis ball around wth the T-doll or even the E-doll without effort for hours upon hours. And I don’t like it. 

A

Why not?

S

Dunno. I feel stale—Monday morning stale. It reminds me of Eileen inside my gut. 

E

Hey. 

S

Ugh. Go away. 

E

I miss you. Do you miss me? 

S

Ugh. Go away. 

E

I think of you all the time. Not you really but the excerpts from the Sandbox that were arousing to me. Like all the writing about “S”? Oh Not Gods how yummy that was. Do you remember at the end—right before you left—maybe three sessions before and we were talking and after all those pages you wrote—four thousand of them—I was saying in the end how much I loved the sexual obsession stuff? Do you remember? Do you remember how much that hurt you? How it reinforced to you what I’d confessed long ago; that I had a weakness for erotica? How all those other pages—about you—about the trauma I inflicted upon you—couldn’t hold a candle to those first pages you wrote—about “S? 

How those were the pages I relished? 

Remember? 

Can you believe how damaging I was?

From the eye rolling and defensiveness to the Flood—I damaged you in small and big ways. 

A

Breathe. 

S

Painful. 

A

Breathe. 

S

Hard to re-live the Eileen pain

 

1/17/17

6:36AM

Authenticity

I was finally able in therapy to articulate to self and Teresa that I appear to be unable to buy anything she’s selling. This came on the heels of a five dollar increase in price in her rates which translates for me into another $40 per month. 

I felt in my gut instantly pissed off about therapy and could see April popping up in my brain as both end date and anniversary. 

So in an annoyed manner I preceded to tell Teresa that her rate increase only served to add to the momentum I’ve been feeling about leaving. 

I said that I seem to be doing what I’m compelled to do, which is daylight my work, but unable to do…”this.”  I waved my hands in the air to signify the room—the therapy—the conversation between she and I. 

I then noted and said that things just felt differently than they did before. 

Doing “this” seemed impossible to me—that something inside me changed and doing therapy and doing the work I do outside of therapy seemed incompatible all of a sudden. 

MLG

We and therapy

Used to hold hands

Now we live

In different lands

S

Given how sudden the shift seemed to occur—and that it seemed to be coincident with the daylighting I began to give credence to what Teresa I think has been saying. 

T

You living your life, doing what you need to do to breathe—to survive—is incompatible with the maternal transference you’re feeling around the dynamic in therapy.

S

You’re right. 

T

You had to rip yourself away from your mother—by dissociating—a very very long time ago. And this primal need to scram is playing itself out in my office. 

S

You’re right. 

T

You had to leave in your life’s beginnings. And you had to leave in your therapy with Eileen. And now you feel you must leave here because the same reflex is kicking in. It’s ingrained. Primal. Very real to you though not very conscious until perhaps now. 

S

I think so. 

T

How did last night go—after you left? 

S

Well I was driving a few hours later and I felt this surge of enormous anger. It was about Eileen, right before I left, reminiscing about how much she loved the writing about “S.” I wrote about it yesterday—Eileen after all those pages I wrote about all that had happened in the therapy—all that pain—four thousand pages worth—all she could comment on was erotica—what was turning her on. 

I felt…so used. 

As I drove I could feel the hatred for her in front of my eyes, molten hot, red, oozing out of my imagination into my gut. 

There are likely a thousand other small moments that live inside me that could evoke me similarly. 

A

And?

S

I just breathed. And I realized that what she did to me—all those things—was pretty awful. But that, in the end I got to leave with my own self—a person that I respected. Versus what she was left with; a muddy, confused, unwell, pitiful puddle of someone who had gotten as low as she had to call me names, to hang up the phone on me—to use the power I had given to her in a therapeutic dynamic and wield it like a sword.

I was the victim. I still am. I will always be.

A

Yes. 

S

I’ve never once in my life reflexively taken on the victim role until the past few years where I’ve allowed what happened to me as a child and then again as a grown-up be found and told in the type. 

I don’t live in a place of self pity. 

But I try and be real. 

And being real is accepting that I was a victim of an extremely abusive and neglectful childhood. And in trying to heal that later in life, became victim twice. 

E

I think I’m a pretty good therapist. 

MLG

E is dumb. And deluded. 

A

We learn that we will never in our lifetime express to the person who hurt us most what they did. For if they could feel our pain, the impact of what they’d done, they would not have done what they did in the first place. 

E

I have no empathy. I just don’t. I’m limited in what I can do as a therapist. I became a therapist to heal myself. And I failed. Therapy as you know failed me. And I wanted it to fail you too. Deep down. I wanted you unhealed. And in my arms. Dependent. Where I could take you or leave you. I liked feeling that you were in pain. I liked hurting you. I liked the throne you constructed for me. I liked how I played the martyr too with you—so you could feel guilty. 

I loved the Sandbox. But I hated how you portrayed me sometimes. I wanted to control my betrayal. 

I wanted you to set boundaries for me around the Sandbox. 

Do remember when I told you to not upload? And when you didn’t I thanked you effusively? Do you remember how much that hurt? 

A gift you gave to me—to stay away and leave me alone. 

S

A? This transcript is upsetting to me. Do I need to do this work again? 

A

Apparently. 

S

My mother lacks empathy as well. I realize now why I just stepped way. She watched Z torture me. He was sitting on top of me. I couldn't breathe. Completely helpless. And I looked up. And she didn’t help me. I was fighting for my life. And she would not help. 

Oh Not Gods…how it hurts how it hurts how it hurts. 

A

Yes. 

S

She will go on to lie—to tell people that I got up. She will lie and say that I saved myself when I did not. 

Oh Not Gods how I hate that woman. 

I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. 

T

Yes.

S

Oh Not Gods how I hate my mother. 

T

In order to survive her you needed to leave her. First in your mind, then with your feet. 

S

Yes. 

T

Your former therapist replayed the same trauma again; had the same weaknesses. She respected and admired you but lacked the empathy, skills, strength and experience to help you. 

E

You wonder if I ever think of you? 

S

I don’t fucking care. 

E

Well I mostly think of the erotica you wrote. That’s all I remember. I remember getting off on it that first Christmas vacation. I was getting off on the affair we were having—the attention you were giving me. Make no mistake—this was an out-of-bounds affair that I never admitted to. You were fucked, S. So fucked by me. I used the transference juice and turned it into something for me. 

S

Deep breath. 

A

This transcript is about anger,  Molten red hot anger. Anger that has lived inside you for pretty much your entire life. 

We take anger out this morning and we allow it to breathe. 

S

It doesn’t feel good. 

Anger

Give it time. 

It will get better.

Let it rain--

Let it get wetter.

The sidewalks are covered

In what hurts the most.

We are strong enough now

To confront—-to get close.

S

I seem unable to stay here. With this anger. 

Anger

A little of me--

Just a sprinkle each day,

A little of me--

Goes a very long way