Thursday, 26th May 2016
Dearest friend,
Counselling this week has given me a huge wake-up call…
The counsellor wasn’t very happy that I missed last week’s session and turned up yesterday fifteen minutes late.
She could easily have called off the session and I would have received notice from the receptionist, but the counsellor wanted to speak with me in person.
I arrived in panic, apologizing for my delay, and that I had just run in from town. Out of breath, I sat down. Observing the displeased demeanour of the counsellor stopped me in my tracks and caused me to pause.
“You missed last week’s session. How have you been getting on?” There was something faint about the way the counsellor spoke; it wasn’t the usual uplifted tone, but more dubious now…
“Jay, in order for counselling to work, you need to commit to this. I can’t mammy you by seeking you out and making sure you can attend. You have to take responsibility and do this for yourself.”
“I understand. I am sorry about before…”
“Are you okay; you look uneasy? I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable; as you know, this is a safe, non-judgemental space. But we need a compromise in going forward.”
I began to become more and more agitated; not over what was said but due to guilt over what I couldn’t say…
“Thank you so much, I appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”
I mentioned my looking forward to going to the Josh Groban concert with Lucy the coming weekend, and how the last concert I attended with my mother was a disaster. The counsellor gave me some tips on how to deal with and overcome resentment, and how we should always aim to be mindful of the present moment. I felt very grateful and much more content in speaking.
From there I just couldn’t lie anymore; I was going to open up about the last weekends’ mania…
“Are you okay, Jay? You look worried.”
“I need to tell you something,” I got out.
“Okay?” she said, reassuringly heartened. I could sense no judgement or quick expectation, so I took my time slowly getting the message across.
“It’s about last week. I wasn’t being completely honest when I said I was unwell with the flu.” I studied the counsellor for a moment to see how she may react, but her expression was vacant. This surprised me a little.
“I guessed there were other reasons, Jay. I knew by the way you behaved coming in here that you weren’t relaxed, and you weren’t being very honest with me when I asked about missing last week; you sounded too doubtful in your tone when telling me…”
I couldn’t speak; the counsellor’s observations of me were very accurate, so I let her continue: “What really happened?”
I tried to find my voice while choking back the tears. “The truth is I’ve been finding this all very difficult. I go into bad states that I fear being able to crawl out from; I’ve been getting bad nightmares again and general social anxiety that I never knew I had… It’s just all been too much!”
“It’s okay, Jay. You’re doing great; let it all out.” The counsellor offered me a box of tissues and I wiped my face before taking a sip of my bottle of water.
Having found my breath, I continued: “I didn’t come to counselling last week because I felt too weak to go… Instead, I went to Dublin that weekend and partied hard… It didn’t really matter who I was with; as long as the mood was high I was happy… I ended up going to a sex club late that night and being reckless.”
I was so caught up in my stride I may as well have been having a conversation with myself; so filled with emotion I didn’t care how ridiculous it represented me, what mattered most was facing up to those actions and assessing the outcome.
“It felt cathartic to get away from my problems, go mad and blend in with the crowd; it felt so refreshing.”
“But part of you did feel false, isn’t that right?”
“I did,” fully realizing… “But not in the sense that the whole euphoria was wrong, more that I still felt I was running from something. It always felt like I had to be one step ahead of my life’s reality; closely silenced whatever pain I was feeling.”
“Why do you feel the need to hide your true self?”
“Because my other half is far too vulnerable to handle things on his own; much too sensitive and close to heart… In times like these, I could crumble if I were to allow myself to feel things fully, and I just don’t want to get hurt anymore.”
“I see. But is the alternative really working?”
“Yes and no. No, because I know deep down the way I’m coping is insincere and possibly toxic for someone of an outsider to imagine. But yes, because I’m able to be somebody else for a few hours and turn the brain off. This way I’m able to take risks and be adventurous… I can’t very well expect you to agree with my behaviour, but lately I know myself to be less depressed and more forthcoming. I’m able to excite people and offer my own magic.”
“You’re performing,” the counsellor explained simply.
“Yes.”
From this, I was cut down to size and brought back to the room… I tend to lose myself in feeling when trying to convey a message of defence; a bad habit to say the least.
“I have to say, Jay, what you’re doing as a release will only lead to more chaos. How you’re acting out as a coping mechanism is no different than your mother turning to drugs; they’re both addictive behaviours, yours sex and your mother’s drugs. The path you’re heading will only lead to more heart-break and bad health, so I can’t enable such behaviour in here…”
I sat in silence, taking in what the counsellor was telling me. It was such a shock to the system, to have been compared to my mother – who thinks of nobody but herself – however, I could see what she meant. My habits were self-destructive and could only lead to a vicious cycle.
“I see,” I managed to say, feeling strangely hurt.
“So, I’m going to let you make a decision from here on in. If you really want to take this counselling seriously, I’ll expect an end to this pattern and to work on stuff in here. So if you attend next week, I’ll know you’re ready for counselling, and if not that’s up to you.”
There was something about the counsellor’s approach I didn’t like; not that her advice was unhelpful, but it seemed very heartless.
From that point, I just couldn’t continue; her indifference was not something I appreciated… I poured my heart out and got my intentions misapprehended, that I couldn’t do anymore.
To continue would be to feel humiliated and unhappier, especially when it took me emotional strength to speak up about my sorrows and let downs over my mother.
She really misunderstood me.
I can see what she was getting at, but to compare like that felt too insulting; the counsellor knew that was a soft spot for me.
When she finished talking, I thanked the counsellor for the hour and hurried out.
During the bus ride back to Philo’s, I contemplated the whole session and found understanding in the counsellor’s reasoning, however it was too raw for me to cooperate in an approach I found dispassionate.
Maybe one day when I’m emotionally ready!
Yours, Jay.