people like me in Each Day

I had a counselling session Thursday. It was less than stellar. It was another instance where I’m telling a story that, to me, is clearly some part of my neuro-divergence, but she has no idea, so starts “counselling” in some random fucking direction, like poking holes in a box to let the light in. And just utterly missing the mark. And then I feel like an asshole because I can’t prevent the contempt from coming out of my face when I tell her that no, this is a neuro-divergence thing, not whatever the fuck she thinks it is.

I told her about a video I’d seen, of a therapy patient of 9 years talking about how they “aren’t getting better”. How all of her therapists have said how “emotionally aware” she was, and how well thought out her responses to her trauma was. She goes on to say that this logicking your way through therapy isn’t actually doing the work. I told my therapist that I don’t know how to “feel my feelings”. I mean, I feel a lot of things very intensely in response to outside stimuli, but when I turn my thoughts inwards, the monologue stops. I can feel the sensation in my body, but I can’t tell you what it is, for real. It’s either rage, nausea, or maybe I ate too much. The author of the video recommended EMDR, IFS, and compassionate inquiry that helped her break through the wall of logic.

Then I told her about my inability to filter the noise in my brain and keep it from coming out of my mouth. Like I wrote about with Bastet, it happened again Wednesday night at knitting. Except these people are relative strangers, basically all they know about me is who I work for. And this is the thing that defines me the least of all of the things about me. And because I am me, the things that define me really fucking matter to me. And for me to think that someone, even a stranger, would think that this thing defines me tears me up inside.

I find it interesting that when I describe this phenomenon, verbally vomiting all over people, all people seem to see is the power in vulnerability or depth of connection. And sure, that’s a really small part in very specific conditions.
But for a moment, think of it like this. You’re out with a bunch of friends, and you have a sordid history or really unfavourable opinions about one of the people in the group. And you’re all laughing and chatting and everything is fine because you don’t have to address the person one on one, they’re not going to know.
Now, think about how you’d feel in that situation if that person was suddenly telepathic, specifically with you. Every opinion, judgement, snide thought, every shitty little thing that comes to mind, they are now privy to. Except now, you see the look on their face and it just makes the thoughts come faster and in more detail. You may know that you aren’t your thoughts. I am not my thoughts. But when those thoughts are suddenly broadcast, unfiltered, uncensored, you’re gonna feel pretty fucking shitty about it. And people are going to believe that you believe the shit coming out of your mouth. Because you said it, right? You must believe it if you said it.

It fucking sucks. Even when it’s good, with safe people, it doesn’t feel good. It feels like you’re doing your own autopsy in their face, showing everyone all the guts and viscera, whether they want to see or not.

Fuck.

I have been having an increased experience of intrusive thoughts. Most of them surround the concept of existing in the future, and not being able to stomach the thought of persisting. The urge to quit life is strong. Like, one day the intrusion will take over and I will lay down and never move or speak again, my brain will stop it’s incessant loop of words and images and sounds and I will have peace. Because I will achieve oblivion.

My boss is one of my favourite acquaintances. He has been on my career/mental health rollercoaster with me since he became my boss in February of 2020. I have shared with him a LOT of personal details that a boss generally shouldn’t/wouldn’t otherwise know about their employee. And in the last year he’s confided some of his personal life with me, in kind.
Today I ran into him in the break room, he was standing at the window (eating the most bizarre combination of cherry tomatoes, tiny cucumbers and strawberries) and he casually mentioned how interesting it has been watching the masses go in and out of our building. He talked about the different types of people, the different hair styles or even colours, different facial hair styles that are so new to our industry. He asked me, the only one with flaming red hair in our section, if I think this will be the boon to recruitment that leadership seems to want. I told him, “It won’t attract new talent. But it will increase the likelihood of retaining people like me”. I went on to say, “However, people like me have noticed how few people have actually taken advantage of the new dress regs”. He looked at me a bit puzzled and I said, “it is still clear to people like me that we don’t belong here”.

After some more talk on the same subject he said, “Do you mind if I shift the discussion a bit? I wanted to ask you, because you seem to know about these things” and proceeded to tell me about his son, who we’ve talked about as he has ADHD, and how lately he’s struggling with body image. My boss described it as “400lbs of expectation he’s placed on his shoulders, and [he and his wife] don’t know how to help him put it down”.
I got really excited to talk about this, because I do know about these things. I blathered on about some things, and asked a few questions, and he said, “I want to go back to something you said, body dysmorphia, what is that?” And I explained the phenomenon of the person inside not matching the person outside, of the literal distortion your brain can induce on your literal sight of your own body, so you aren’t seeing yourself as you appear to other people.
I said I’d send him some resources, but then I realized that almost all of my resources are woman/bipoc-centric, which could be alienating for a boy/young man.
I feel an awful lot of responsibility in this, because this man has supported me so much, listened and didn’t make me feel judged. Done actual work to try to push my issues forward. And no, I don’t feel like I owe him, or that his effort requires pay back. But acts of service is one of my love languages, and also I’m a consummate people pleaser, so of course I want to help (manipulate) him (when I read that people pleasing was a manipulation it rocked my world).

I’m worded out. Good night.