puh12092019: Leavynn

Dear Diary,

Dear Me,

I've been hit by a very severe loss as of late. I've lost someone who meant so much to me that I don't know if I'll ever be able to put all these overwhelming emotions into black and white.

My therapist told me that she should probably stop seeing me as I've gotten too comfortable with therapy. At least, that's her take on it. I think she might have misinterpreted something I said to her, that made her think that I might be starting to prolong my treatment on purpose just so I get to see her, but that's not true at all. There's so much I want to tell her. I'm comfortable, but not too comfortable yet. But, as I'm rapidly starting to rediscover, I don't deal well with being misunderstood and left alone at all, and my desperation, depression insane voice is already telling me that she doesn't want to see me because I'm creepy, or that I'm a waste of time.

Ever since she told me that, everything's like they're back to square one. Like everything we've worked on together the past year and a half has just upped and vanished, just like how I envision her now. My temper has been the shortest it's ever been, sometimes not even requiring a trigger to set me off. I've given up on everything I said I wanted to do. I attempted suicide again. And by god, I cried buckets and rivers. I cried non stop in that session, I cried in my van immediately after, I cried the day after while driving on the expressway, I cried when I reached the parking lot. Even when I'm not physically crying, it never felt like I've ever stopped crying mentally on the inside. I don't think I've ever suffered a loss that made me so outwardly upset before. Then again, I've never opened up to any woman the way I have - before, so I guess the proportions make sense.

I've never been so bewildered by a loss before. I've always known she meant a lot to me, but exactly how much, I never knew, until she told me she would stop seeing me. I've always known I've relied on her heavily, but... you know what. Maybe this all makes sense when put into unfeeling words. But I've always sucked at making sense, especially of my own feelings. I'm so lost, so confused, so sad, almost betrayed. It just so happened that Friday was my first sucky day at this job, and I felt a lot of anger, a lot of frustration, a lot of sadness, a lot of violent impulses. And you know what, maybe they're all warranted. Maybe they're all normal, healthy, even. But it scares me. Those thoughts scare me. I'm just terrified and lost without -. What if I really am not sick anymore? What if I don't have to "solve" these feelings? What if not every feeling even needs to be solved? Am I going to feel this way forever? Am I going to behave this way forever? Am I going to have to fight all these feelings forever? Am I really normal? Is this really normal? Growing up, I've never had much distinction between "healthy" anger and "normal" sadness from the "you need help" anger and "you should probably find someone to talk this out with" sadness. I've just been constantly miserable. I've always needed help. I've always needed someone to talk to. I've always needed someone by my side I can count on. I've always needed someone I can believe in. I've always needed that space and time where I could be vulnerable. I've always needed someone to cheer me on. I've always needed a voice of sanity and reason to guide me, to rationalise this insane world for me.

I've always been needy.

And for the past one and a half year, I had all that and more. Sure, she could only see me for one hour every fortnight at best, but I had it nonetheless. I was thrown into psychotherapy by my psychiatrist, not knowing what even is going on, only that I desperately needed the pain and anger to go away, and would try anything to make it disappear. I didn't know what therapy was. I didn't know what therapy should be. No one talked me through the rules and etiquette of therapy. No one taught me the boundaries until it was too late and I went and developed feelings for -. I didn't know or even expect that erotic transference was so common. These feelings of admiration, reliance, and... happiness. I didn't know. I didn't know.

I had all I needed in limited quantity for a while. I started to feel better and better.

The worst part of this all is, feeling this shitty just from her even suggesting we should stop seeing each other, shedding all these tears, going through all these episodes, being in this slump, just goes to prove that I'm over reliant on her. And that just makes these feelings ten times worse than they already are, because it just seems to be a pattern in my life, wherein I am a needy person with something awfully wrong with me, I find someone who genuinely cares for me, I get over reliant on them, something breaks under all the stress of the weight of my bullshit, and they leave. And I'm left let down and broken. It makes me feel pathetic. It makes me feel like I could never open myself up to anyone, because what's in me, what I yearn to share with a woman, romantically, is almost exclusively bullshit, from the looks of it. Do I have some nice things to share? Sure. But when, aside from when with -, were they ever appreciated?

I think it's starting to become common knowledge that one should love themselves first before loving others. That love and romance shouldn't, ideally anyway, be meant to fill gaping holes in the hearts of each other. Then again, I've never been in a romantic relationship; the hell would I know? I think this whole debacle with - has illustrated that for me beyond any doubt or argument. I hate myself, I really do. Of all the people I know, I hate myself the most. My time with - made me so, so happy. So much so that I would want to make her my wife and spend the rest of my life with her if at all possible. She is someone I could never bear to let go. She means so much, too much, to me. Again, I have pinned so much hope on her. Without knowing it, she has become a staple of my life, and every thought, every plan and worry of the future my over active head comes up with has her in it. Logically speaking, I knew. I knew that therapy isn't for life. I knew that the goal of therapy was to stop seeing her. I knew she may want to consider other career paths. I knew. I knew it all. But those rational thoughts just never seemed to occur to me at all. Maybe that's because I still need her so much, for so much.

Don't get me wrong. I'm happy for her. Like a typical "good" loser I've been relegated to become my whole fucking life, I'm happy for the woman that is leaving me for dead. In the one and a half month of procrastination and avoidance of writing this post, I've gotten to see her again. She explains to me that she is indeed quitting her current job this coming January. And I'm happy for her. I'm happy that she doesn't feel obligated to a useless sack of shit that is me. I'm happy that she isn't the type to rest on her laurels and stay stale in a comfort zone. I'm happy that she wants to explore more, for herself. I'm relieved that she actually thinks of herself every once in a while, Ms. Wear a Face Mask to Work Because I'm Not Bedridden and Dying and My Clients Need Me. I'm glad she's actually taking care of herself. I'm... glad, I got to know more about her, in spite of therapy boundaries.

It's just... where does this leave me? Now moreso than ever, I am confused. What becomes of me now? What am I supposed to do? The immediate thought that comes to mind is, "find someone to talk it out with, like a therapist!" But that just sounds stupid for once, doesn't it? What, am I supposed to find another therapist and repeat this entire cycle again? I'm not entirely sure I'm even ready to trust and rely on someone else. My depression voice is telling me to go back to my old self, to never speak up or trust anyone ever again. To live with these feelings forever, because even those don't have me feeling as worthless and confused as watching the one beacon of hope in the stormy sea of shit that is life do a 180 and leave me for dead. I get that - leaving me is nothing malicious, or of any ill will. It's just that... being abandoned stirs up so much complex and intense emotions all at once, past and present, my brain jams and goes into panic mode, and I begin to say all these weird and angry things. I am angry. I am sad. I am confused. I am happy. I am all that and more. It's just too much to process. Too impossible to rationalise. Too ridiculous to put into words.

If I have to love myself first before loving someone else, and if I have to do this on my own... I don't know if I can. I don't know if I can do this alone. I don't know if I should get more help. I don't know if I will ever love myself, or enjoy life.