Today’s session with the shrink was rough. Nothing fun about sitting and have them stare at you while you try to cough up your feelings that are too painful and shameful to utter aloud. So instead you put on a good personae and artfully try to dodge the elephant sitting on your heart that you wish you had the balls to say, but your too much of a pussy to. For if you do, you can risk looking like an asshole or worse getting hurt.
It took me awhile to get the courage up to spit out what I was hemming and hawing about saying for 40 minutes. Nearly the entire session.
It has taken me weeks to get to the point of even mustering that up. The emotions carry that much shame for me to say.
The thing I said well, it makes me feel weak, embarrassed, vulnerable, powerless. All feelings I HATE. All feelings I don’t have skills to tolerate very well.
But I did finally spit it out, because I want to get well and I think that puking up what’s hard to do, will get me there.
I guess I’m blindsided by her response.
She was like, “no, you don’t really feel that way do you?” and she kinda laughed.
Then I felt humiliated on top of the existing shame….. Mother fucker. I wanted to crawl into the nearest hole and die.
She has no fucking idea. And that’s largely my fault. For the better of thirty fucking years I have learned to “present well,” so that no one knows what’s really going on.
I do it so well, I can mostly turn it off and on like a light switch…..mostly.
Sitting there in that chair in her office feeling ashamed, it flooded my brain with similar events that I tried to bury a long time ago.
Especially the young, impish, fractured, splintered off part of myself I thought I could seal behind a wall and bury alive.
But that girl’s muffled voice broke through from behind the bricks today choking back her pitiful fucking tears.
There she is again, from behind the woman veneer.
Stirring somewhere from latent consciousness.
Crystallized….and I’m still paralyzed.
I seem to walk through life, reflexively, a continuous loop of internal thought patterns,“I am bad. unliked, unwanted, unaccepted….. I am un-lovable.”
When I told my shrink how I felt about her, she replied that I must be wrong…… It stung. Walls went up.
Usually, I reject me before anyone else can hurt me. Well, I fucked up.
I am ashamed….of me.
I am realizing that shame is a bigger part of my emotional make-up than I ever knew. It’s inescapable presence envelops me like a blanket.
If I don’t deal with “it”, I will continue to live in misery.
Before today’s session I might have passed for an average girl, walking with a seeming look of purpose, unfettered by any stress. And in some ways, I guess that would have been true.
I left however, restricting my gaze downward to the cobblestone street, tears staining my cheeks, reflecting the ugliness I still hold inside.
Ugliness from which I haven’t been yet able to wriggle free.
BDSM and bondage isn’t always about rope and submission.
The riskiest scenes take place on the inside, with the chains that bind our very soul.