After my 29th birthday I gave myself the present to go to therapy. I knew that there was a discrepancy between the person I thought I was and the person people saw me as. The struggle between these personas eroded relationships in my family and tore apart friendships. It had taken its toll for years and I was finally ready to try and do something about.
I had been told by my mom, my sisters, my best friends, and that bitch self-talk that I am the reason for so many of these problems. If I just “got a better attitude” or if I didn’t “have such high expectations” or if I wasn’t so mean or angry or mad at whoever; then all would be ok. It was all somehow my fault. Three fucking years later I’m still being told that I have too high of expectations of people or that I’m angry or mean or mad or have a bad attitude. The thing about therapy is that it’s not an antibiotic that you take a course and what ails you is gone. It takes practice and reminders and implementation and reminders and practice. It also takes and a small core of people that see me as how I see me and reminds me that I’m not that horrible person that others make think I am. If you’ve ever been there you were probably surprised at whom that small group of people were. Surprising even more to me is that as my life has changed for the good that small group got smaller. It’s like some people didn’t want to deal with the real me, the one that was good. Did they like the one that was mean to people and a bitch and mouthy and hurt inside and cried when no one was around? To be fair though, I have rebuilt some friendships and I have strengthened others. I have the damn common sense now to see which relationships I should invest in and which I should let go…err……well, sometimes that is.
And sometimes I can mentally tell people to fuck off. I can say fuck you, fuck you and fuck you and especially fuck you, because if these people choose to see something that isn’t there because of their own issues than that’s their loss. Then they miss being part of my life. And I am fun! And I’m caring and thoughtful and funny. In fact, I can be fucking funny. (Ego isn’t a bad thing if you’ve never had one.)
Othertimes I don’t know how to let it go when friends and family that have been a part of my life and make me who I am have rejected me and don’t want to be a part of my life. And that’s how I feel when you don’t call me, seek me out, or have any general interest in my life. I feel rejected. I feel abandoned. Its probably not healthy but I never said I was done with therapy so get off my back.
Three years later, I struggle daily in keeping that person that I know I am to be in the forefront and not fall back into the person that people think I am. It is hard and it hurts and its work, a lot of work.