soapboxdiner

Onward into therapy lightly, part II

Okay, I'm back. Where was I?

Yeah. You know what's funny is - and please bear in mind that all I have in my arsenal of knowledge is a minutely dissected self diagnosis based on thousands of dollars of psychotherapy - what's funny is the more one learns about mental illness, the more that person feels they should be able to take all that mental crap they put themselves through in stride. Squash it like a bug. Drop it like it's hot. And a slew of other popular metaphorical sayings.

Or at least all that applies to myself. I suppose I shouldn't generalize issues other people face.

The thing is, you can talk about all your issues and come to a pretty good understanding of what the causative factors are - where your thinking became skewed. You can know it all on an intellectual level. But when it comes to accepting it and encorporating the knowledge into real and useful life skills? Man. There are a million and one different ways to "But, but" your way into disbelief.

And the more you know about it, the more impatient you become with all the "but buts" that you find yourself still believing. Trying to rid yourself of them is just. so. draining. It's ever so much easier to just accept your issues and believe them. And feel all crappy inside.

And then you feel like a cop-out. Because it is a cop-out to just accept that when all you do is continue to bitch about the same things you intellectually know better about. Ironically, however, that very cop-out is a symptom of the issue that you are trying to treat.

Do you see the circles one goes through here? Tell yourself something negative in response to not changing the negative issue you're facing. "You're" obviously being me.

And if I've talked this subject into the ground after months and months of dissection, my most humble apologies. Sometimes the redundant epiphanies repeat themselves in all new and revealing ways.

But somebody, please. Tell my brain that it really is okay to be less than perfect. My ass is soar from all the kickings it gets. And while you're at it, please send my brain re-affirmations that I am NOT a complete loser brain-dead embecile unworthy of true and lasting affection and friendship. My tongue is tried of talking over the close-eared "lalalalalalala" of that mushy pound of cranial tissue behind my eyes.

Or not. Whatever. It really has heard it all before.

7:12 pm - 08.14.02
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