August 2007

So I talked to mom yesterday (I was on a brief, but hardcore one-way no speaking thing with her after The Separation discussion, realized I was silly, and quit it) and she said I should call the doctor’s office that seems to have forgotten all about me and DEMAND to get an appointment with them. I shrugged and said I didn’t want to talk about it, went home and analyzed it to bits. This is what I figured out.

1. I don’t want to call anyone, least of all the doctor’s office that has fucking DISSED me.

2. Demanding anything goes very much against all the oh-so-girly bits of my upbringing; even if I want to be the kind of person who demands things, I’m really not.

3. If I would get an appointment after calling, demanding, and refusing to hang up until they said yes, I wouldn’t want the appointment anyway because I would have forced it. I know this is insane, but this is also precisely why I NEED therapy. This presupposes a) that they care about whether I’m there or not, b) that they care about ME, c) that the care/therapy I get is dependent on their feelings towards me, and d) that the person I demand things from will talk smack about me with the person that does the therapy-ing. I know that it doesn’t work that way, but I wouldn’t be comfortable with the situation if I got an appointment after forcing one.

4. I’m pretty sure none of these people can help me, anyway (and this is where the Meyer-Briggs scale bandwagoning begins). I have very high standards as to which people I will listen to and take advice from. Mostly, I’ve realized that the nurses-gone-therapists they have at the doctors’ office have pretty much the same amount of education I have, and my education has mostly revolved around criticizing and deconstructing the theories these people studied as truths. They’re also mostly Freudians, and I fucking HATE Freud. And Freudians. I need a Foucaultian therapist. I don’t think there are any.

I’m also pretty certain they’re all F types. Oh the horror of F types. Being a T, I don’t think there are any aspects of my quirks and insanities I haven’t analyzed to bits yet. I don’t need help with analyzing them again, from the viewpoint of a Freudian F-type. There are few things they can say about my paranoias and phobias that I can’t shoot down too, I suspect. I AM right after all. There are germs and bacteria everywhere, people spread diseases and don’t wash their hands after going to the loo. These are truths; the fact that everyone isn’t a mysophobe probably has more to do with the way they react to this, than the germs themselves. I don’t want to get sick, I definitely don’t want to get stomach bugs, and not being around people lessens the risk of getting ill. The thing with phobias are they are said to be irrational fears; I’m pretty convinced my fear IS rational. The denial of the possibility to get sick from fraternizing with the plebs is what is irrational. I suspect the Freudian F-type therapists will have a very hard time convincing me of anything else.

Meh. I don’t know what else to say. I suspect these are all things therapists would say is part of my problem. Maybe it is. I just have a very hard time allowing anyone else to tell me how to do things.


Huh. This is so weird. My parent’s are moving apart, after 25 years of marriage. I suppose 25 years is an even, round, and good number to decide not to live together anymore on. They’re not getting divorced, and I don’t think they’re breaking up either. They were unclear on that subject. They’re just not going to live together anymore. They tried to make it not such a big deal, but I don’t know. It feels like a pretty massive deal to me. I don’t even get WHY it does; I mean, I haven’t lived with them since 2003, they promised to spend holidays together, and mumbled something about Sunday dinners. To ME everything will, at least practically, be the same, at least until they decide whether to actually get divorced or not. Still it feels like nothing will ever be the same again. I can’t really wrap my head around it. I forget it, and then it pops back up again. I’m 25, dagnabbit, I’m too old to be a kid in this situation. I won’t have to lug my things between apartments, I won’t have to decide which parent to spend Christmas with, there are, weirdly enough to be my family, no hard feelings involved. And everything still feels broken.

And when I got back home after the family meeting thing at the house where Mom won’t live anymore, Dad called and said his mother had fallen at the living facility she’s at, and maybe has a broken something. This day is the weirdest ever.