Oh, right! Write! in Das Book

Holy shit! I have been reading the opendiary file I downloaded right before the crash. That shit starts when I was 17 and carries through until last yearish, but damn I was prolific in college! It’s been amazing to watch myself turn into someone that I actually kind of like. And to roll my eyes at just how judgmental/ridiculous/insane I was at the same time. But 18 year old me? Really fucking awful. 19? Starting to actually like her! Anyways.

I don’t have internet at my house (it’s getting fixed right now) so I wrote an entry yesterday and here it is:

I used to write and write and write. I had words upon words to share about my experience of existence. I never really write anymore. I went through a 2 month 3 pages a day on paper way back when I was living in Portland but all in all Clea ages 23 - 29 is turning out to be the least prolific Clea of all. I have been reading my open diary file that I downloaded before the crash. I’ve been reading it off and on since August and I’m only halfway done. Damn, I had some ridiculously clear insight on myself. I think that comes from the very act of sitting down at the keyboard and writing often.

I’m about to start going to therapy. I have two appointments with two different art therapists. I don’t know which one I’m going to like better yet. I went to an appointment about a month ago with a different therapist and I didn’t have any desire to go back to see her, whatsoever. I don’t know what it is that I specifically need from a therapist but I do know that a desire to return to that person’s presence is really important.

Also I’m learning how to become a therapist. There’s this part of me that is aware of how much therapy terrifies me. And I think I just figured out at least one of the roots to that. I just saw the Johari Window for the first time and I’m kind of freaking out. It basically looks like this:

___Known to self|Unknown to self_
Known |
to |
others 1. public_|___2. blind__
Unknown |
to |
others_3. secret ___|___4. unconscious__

So there’s the window, not a big deal. But then there’s this: “We try to help the public self grow larger at the expense of the other three and the secret self to shrink, as patients, through the process of self-disclosure, share more of themselves - at first to the therapist and then judiciously to other appropriate figures in their lives.”

Secrets kept my family ticking. Mom would keep secrets about us kids from Dad. And she tried to keep Dad’s secrets from us. Being an adult around my family is like a whole fucking waterfall of revelations about all the god-damned secrecy I grew up with. And then as a teenager, my whole entire life was a secret! I was cutting myself and hiding the cutting, smoking as much pot as my little teenager self could get her hands on from the stash under Dad’s bed… I mean, that is just an entire other mess of secrets, deception, and sneakiness on both our parts.

And my secrets aren’t nearly as interlaced with my identity now as they were then, but the thought of shrinking that secret window and making everything public gave me a few goosebumps and some serious feelings of my own self shrinking away. But it makes so much sense. This is the number one coping mechanism in my family. This is the coping mechanism that we use to keep our myriad of other unhealthy coping mechanisms from being discovered! How do you live without having secret parts of yourself that no one else knows about? What the fuck!?

Today was “Practice Day” at my university, which looked really awesome. There were tons of workshops about herbal plants, sonic meditation, Tai’chi, etc, etc. And I didn’t go. I decided to have my own private practice day. So I have been here at home. I meditated. I started a letter to a friend. I cooked and ate beautiful food with beautiful intentions. I made therapy appointments. I colored in my emotions chart. I dipped peanut butter sandwich cookies into half and half (delightful!). This day feels like a self-sabotage/self-care twist because while it’s been great to be home, I can’t help but feel guilty about missing such awesome stuff at school.

Now Alex is home and I want to meditate again and work on one of the assignments that I’ve been putting off for a while. I have to write an initial interview. Like, all of the questions that I want to ask someone in the first session that they ever come to see me. My teacher gave us all of these examples of interviews to look at. I haven’t looked at any yet. I’m thinking about just writing up my own without looking, first, and then checking them out and seeing how far my instincts can take me. It’s interesting to have to do this right now, as I begin therapy with two different humans. I actually really struggle with beginnings with people. I know that the last therapist I saw did not begin properly (for me!) but I don’t know yet what “properly” means. This is a completely bizarre field to study. I do feel like I’m getting a phenomenal education, though.

I’m going to write more often. OK? It helps me stay more engaged with my life and I can’t afford to check out right now.