The Sandbox

Amnesia, Art, Healing

1/3/16

6:37AM

Authenticity

I cried up a storm yesterday.  And I arrived for dinner in tears.

Pete skipped his Monday night poker and took us both out for pizza. 

And it was just what the doctor ordered. 

We drove to San Francisco in the cold and ordered a hot, gooey pie. 

Afterwards we held hands as we walked to the car and when we began driving home…rain. 

Fat cold drops from the sky. 

And when we arrived back home I did something different; small—tiny—but different. 

I did not go to my laptop to check on or see…anything. 

A minuscule change but for me it felt similar to a shift I made last summer from swimming mid day to the morning—a statement that I’m taking my day and my life back a little bit. 

Not sure if this will become a routine or if it was one day in the new year not to be repeated again. 

A

Tell. 

S

I also received an email yesterday from a woman who had stumbled upon my site. She’d read every word and wept; she too had loved and been loved by a therapist but like me I think things ended and probably not well. 

She’s two weeks from being two years out and it still pains her deeply. 

She wanted me to know that I was not alone. 

A

And?

S

It released something deep inside of me—and I cried reading her note and then thinking about it hours later. I felt compassion for us both—for me, for her. 

In her note and in her reaching out I could somehow more easily cry and grieve. 

A

How are you this morning? 

S

I’m okay. I feel less pain around this gap between who I am, what I have and what I feel I need. The gap has been tugging away at me honestly my whole life—this separation between me and me—between me and being able to achieve…something. Perhaps me and being able to be a version of me I’m still stumbling upon and at the same time trying desperately too to daylight. 

A

Keep going. 

S

It’s about dissociation I think. And art. And loss. It’s about grieving what I might have been had I not had what happened to me happen to me. It’s about trying now to catch up for so much lost time—but I’m not sure where the race is even headed. But there is a strong compulsion to move quickly towards Towards. 

A

We move again towards Towards. 

S

Towards towards about a month ago was about abandoning the tight editing I was doing for a book and moving or expanding myself and effort onto a website where public access was possible. 

Towards towards now…is a continuation of daylighting myself. 

I also believe towards Towards is about ending therapy; closing that door and seeing what doors open from doing that. 

A

Why end therapy?

S

It’s been around four years now; two with Eileen. And in April it will be two with Teresa. I get that there’s something to be learned around wanting to do things on my own—do my own therapy.  Teresa said I need to explore that issue about not letting others help. 

On the other hand, therapy is not supposed to be forever and the goal really is to be able to do your own therapy. So while independence for me is an issue, it’s also what you want to strive for relative to therapy. And I think I honestly know all of Teresa’s dance steps. 

I’m not angry with her. I feel like she’s been good. 

I just think that my work coming up will be about moving on; and in doing so maybe I will begin to feel more of my own strength. 

A

As we rise from the mini couch perhaps we see better that we are strong and equal?

S

Yeah, this therapy, even when it’s not bad, tends to deflate your confidence. There is a power dynamic that seems unavoidable. Remove the relationship and you remove the dynamic. 

T

Sniff. You’re my favorite. Twice a week. Cash. Never a payment problem. Always interesting. Challenging. You do great work. Don’t leave me. My life is centered around trauma. I kinda wish you would stay traumatized, depressed, grieving, sad forever so that I can help you twice a week to feel better. Improve but not too much, please?

S

Really T?

T

No, not really but kinda deep down yes really. I have different parts too you know. Part of me doesn't want you to leave, wants you to need me to a small degree—a degree that is convenient and satisfying to me—a degree that doesn’t impose but warms my home by paying bills and my heart by making me feel like I’m doing some good in the world. 

Another part of me detaches itself from you and chalks you up to another person in the revolving trauma/dissociation/EMDR office that I run. If you feel my various parts you’re feeling correctly. 

S

I do.

T

Will you miss me?

S

In the beginning I will. And I will cry probably with the emptiness of the two hours that it took up each week. But my hunch is that it will be good for me to move on. 

T

I disagree. And I agree. 

S

If you want to visit me go to my website. 

T

Sniff. I don’t want to. I want you to come to me. And ask me what I think. And write me checks. That’s how this works. 

S

No, it doesn’t. I have or I will have things to offer the world. I do not need to pay you to have you witness my work. 

T

Yes. You. Do. 

S

Well, okay. I see where you’re at with this. Ultimately you won’t ever respect my work as an equal or greater than equal. Once paid you remain paid? 

T

Yes. And please reconsider your decision. I don’t think you’re ready. You have A, B & C to still work on. 

S

Right. 

T

This always happens. I take off for a few weeks and clients lose their momentum and quit. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I hate this job. 

S

C’mon. I’m sure you can replace the money easily. Lately your waiting room every session has a new person after me. Did you run a Groupon?

T

Not funny, S. 

S

Okay. Sorry. See you later this week. We can talk more about it then. 

T

Don’t put me in my place like I do you. Not fair. Those are my lines. I end sessions. Not you. MY time is valuable and finite. Not yours. You will always want more of me than me of you. 

S

Okay, T. I understand. 

I am not sure why but the past week or two I feel possessed to find a grey in my work. A draft using a grey underglaze I mixed myself. Moving towards Towards you never really know why exactly you move...you just do. 

I am not sure why but the past week or two I feel possessed to find a grey in my work. A draft using a grey underglaze I mixed myself. Moving towards Towards you never really know why exactly you move...you just do.