Therapy

I'm back in therapy again? still? since pastoral care seems to be a foreign concept here in Port Alberni.

My counselor has given me homework.  It is to experience the emotions that I feel.  When I feel an emotion, I am too experience it.  I'm not quite sure how that works.  In a sense, of course I'm going to experience them.  Am I supposed to think about what caused them?  That's always been my problem: I don't really know why I'm crying at movies, or even kitschy ads.

Immediately after the session, when I went home, I was feeling somewhat depressed, and low on energy, and not wanting to do anything.  I thought about that, and wasn't too worried about it, since, although today is fairly busy, tomorrow is pretty open, so I can get some work done tomorrow if I didn't do it yesterday.  (Yeah, when you're blogging, and reporting things after the fact, and writing things that are going to be posted in the future, tenses get mixed up a bit.)

Today, on my walk, while praying my way through Port Alberni, I realized that I was weeping.  It wasn't the great wrenching sobs that a grief burst normally is, and, if the wind was blowing, I could have thought that it was just my eyes watering.  So, I tried to think about what I might be feeling, and realize that I was feeling rather sad that this seems to be my life for the foreseeable future, walking around town, praying for people who don't care whether I live or die, and going to events in support of people who don't care whether I live or die.

Speaking of being depressed, I note that while praying my way through the churches (and this seems to have been consistent over the past few days as well), I'm finding it extremely difficult to concentrate.  I keep losing my place, and my thoughts wander off in other directions.  Starting, usually, with a person that I'm praying for but, eventually, I realize that I have strayed far afield and have to remember where I was in the list, and get back to praying for the various churches, and the various people in the churches.  I mean, this happens on a regular basis, but the last few days have been worse than usual.  Perhaps I'm getting dementia, and therefore will die relatively soon.  That would be good.

Again, in regard to depression, at the moment everything seems like an effort.  An enormous effort, even when it's a minor issue.  Every time I realize that I should go to the store and get another box of antihistamine, it just feels like to great a task to do that.  The total cumulative weight of all of these minor, normal, every day things is, once again (or possibly still?) infuriating me.  I'm obviously still feeling the enormous anger, which is possibly the flip side of the depression.  Feeling anger and depression at the same time: what a concept.  (The effort business seems to be physical as well: today's walks took measurably longer than normal.)

And, I have just had an absolutely massive grief burst, dictating, into the review of Megan Devine's "It's Okay That You're Not Okay," a story from when Gloria was still alive ...

On another day, someone opined that possibly the reason I was here, in Port Alberni, having suffered such pain and grief, and being so open and vulnerable in talking about it, was in order to encourage people here to be open, honest, and vulnerable.  That was an incredibly painful thought.  When I considered why, I realized that it was because, if true, I have been put through all this pain, but my purpose is, basically, being rejected, because nobody is being open, honest, and vulnerable.

This morning (another day) I am somewhat depressed.  It is yet another men's breakfast day.  Should I go?  What is the point?  Yet another breakfast that I shouldn't eat, and yet another devotional that provides no insight or comfort.  Is continuing to go to these things yet another example of self-induced craziness?  Is "supporting" this endeavour worth the pain?  It's good in theory.  A friend was suggesting "The Men's Table," which (although it seems to be limited to Australia) describes itself as a "safe space."  The men's breakfasts here are definitely not safe.  I know that I will encounter the relentlessly, cheerfully toxic positivity of the worst comforter in the entire world, yet again.

The attack was interesting, in emotional terms.  I didn't get to the point of shivering, but I was obviously having a physical reaction at one point.  It was psychologically painful, but I wasn't afraid for my physical safety, and, knowing that the attack rationale was nonsense, I wasn't afraid for my psychological safety, either.  Possibly it was just the desperate unpleasantness of it all, plus the twenty-five-to-one odds in favour of the enemy.

Being chucked out of my own project was also unpleasant, but, other than being disappointed and somewhat worried about those in need not getting what they need, I didn't really have a strong emotional reaction.  The most disappointing aspect was that it was my own fault: I'm quite used to people stealing my IP by now.

A few weeks ago, I had a great seminar, and then nobody to share that with, and ended up pigging out at DQ.  At the time I put it down to the "nobody to share it with" and desperate loneliness.  However, today I had a seminar (a bit of an odd one, admittedly) with a school class.  And, immediately thereafter, felt like eating.  (Also admittedly, it finished a little after a normal lunch time, and I hadn't had anything to eat, so that *might* be a factor ...)  But, could the "hunger" have something to do with teaching?  (Then again, maybe it's the tie.  Maybe I should just stop wearing ties ...)

Actually, the weekend was so bad that I didn't realize, until Monday night, how bad it had been.