Well. That didn't work. i have absolutely no idea where to go. Dammit. i am annoyed with myself for being unable to find any kind of direction. What the fuck, you know? Its not that i have nothing to say. Its that i have too much to say and all the words get clogged up and so nothing comes out. Just a mindless shriek. And, that doesn't help at all. So. So what? Anybody else ever tried the therapy thing? You know, you go for the first visit, and you sit there, across from this total stranger who is doing their very best to look comforting and nonthreatening. And, on that first visit you are supposed to give a brief overview of just how fucked up you are. i always hate that first visit. Its just too much and its embarrassing. The good ones manage to keep their face impassive. But, i've had a few that i could see the panic set in. That look that says, "Holy fuck, this woman is totally crackers. What the hell am I supposed to do with her?" i hate that look. When you scare shrinks it is not a very fucking sunny feeling.
my mother did try to get me counseling when i was a kid. When i first came home to live. Let's talk about what a dismal failure that was, why don't we? Let's see if it will carry us through the week and perhaps by then i'll get my groove back. i'm going to start with when my mother came to my grandparents and collected me. To read that post, click here.
At home she cut the TV on for me and went into her bedroom and closed the door. i sat in front of Sesame Street and Reading Rainbow trying to get some grasp on what was happening. After praying for so long to be rescued, i did not believe it when deliverance came. This was another trick, another trap. As soon as i allowed myself to hope, i knew i would be sent back. And, then i would be the one to pay for all those awful things she had said to Granddaddy. Never mind he was gone when she said them. He would know. He always knew. i was cold. Even though it was probably hot as hell i was almost always cold. The doctors would later say this was a symptom of malnourishment. But, that day i crawled into the bright patch of sunlight in the orange shag carpet on Mama's floor and hugged myself. i was so terrified that i couldn't get a good deep breathe. The time spent alone in the den seemed to stretch into infinity although it couldn't have been more than an hour. But, dread does funny things to time. It turns it into elastic and stretches and tugs it into monstrous chunks of eternity. By the time my straining ears heard the bedroom door open, i had found the hole in the floor and escaped into my own mind.
