Friday, April 15, 2011

Defective Priority

Writing has been difficult for me since I left the hospital.  My words feel useless.  I feel useless.  The day program on Tuesdays and Wednesdays feels useless.  Sitting in a group of people that are supposedly in the same boat as me is hard when you feel like such an outsider.  How do I relate to these people?  The age range of the group is huge and the people are different each day that I go.  What do I have in common with a 72 year old man except anxiety?  What do I have in common with an 18 or 19 year old whose parents are paying for her college, her car, her apartment, her entire life and yet her biggest complaint in life is her parents.  They are too involved in her life.  I told my therapist about her on Wednesday and my therapist went into this long explanation about how parents who are too involved can actually be harmful, etc…  It doesn’t matter.  I still can’t relate to it.  To me if feels like she is complaining that her parents love her too much and my only reactions to that are anger and utter sadness.  I want to tell her to fuck off.  I want to leave the group.  I don’t want to share when it’s my turn.  I feel like a freak.  I’m the foster kid.  I’m the girl who lived in 42 foster placements.  I’m the girl nobody wanted.  I’m the girl nobody could love for very long.  I’m the girl that had nobody involved in her life for most of her life.  That girl’s parents make her a very high priority in their lives.  I have never been a high priority is someone's life.  I’ve never felt very important to anyone.  I’ve never felt confident that I am loved.  Never!  And I probably never will.   

I feel like the freak of the group.  I feel like I don’t belong with these people.  When I am able to open up and share minor things about my life everyone becomes silent and then someone will launch into this well-meaning lecture about how I should give back to foster children because I would make a huge difference.  This isn’t new.  Everyone does this to me.  Everyone has always done this time me.  I don’t want to seem like a jerk but it really upsets me that people pigeon hole me this way because I’ve had a crappy life.  Why do I have to give back just because I was dealt a horrible hand in life?  Why?  I do want to help foster children and I do want to make a difference but I hate it when people tell me what I should do with my life because of my history.  What if I don’t want to do that with my life?  What if I want to be a film maker or a veterinarian?  Those were both dreams of mine at one point.  Most people don’t have strangers tell them what they should do with their life, but I do.  Everyone tells me what I should do with my life. Everyone.  Strangers and close friends.  People have been telling me what I should do with my life my entire life.  I should be a case worker, I should be a foster mom, I should adopt.  I should do SOMETHING with foster care.  For a very long time I rebelled against it, not because I didn’t want to but because I resented people telling me what I should do with my life instead of asking me what I want to do with my life.

I was late to therapy on Wednesday because I had to take the bus to my car.  Being late to things really stresses me out.  I asked my therapist if I can move my start time to 3:10 or the next hour so I won’t be late and she said she can’t do it.  Before the hospital I saw my therapist three times a week.  I saw her right after I got out of the hospital and then she was out of town for a week.  This week I only saw her on Wednesday because she doesn’t want to see me more than once a week.  “I think seeing me three times a week was triggering your abandonment issues.”  She said.  I really don’t think that’s what was triggering my issues!  The things she would say to me and avoid saying to me were very triggering however.  One minute she can’t be my therapist and the next she is my therapist.  The only conversation I remember having with her in the hospital was asking her if she will stay my therapist and she told me, “I can’t hold your spot for you.”  That seriously hurt my feelings.  I felt brave enough to tell her that on Wednesday, probably because I’m thinking about giving up on her right now.  I said, “Something you said when I was in the hospital really sucked and I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”  She nodded, encouraging me to continue.  “It was when you said that you couldn’t hold my spot.”  She asked me how it felt for me and I told her it felt passive aggressive and mean.  “It made you feel like you weren’t cared about,” she said.  How could it not?  She told me that she was glad I was sharing this with her but she didn’t really apologize or offer anything that would make me feel better about it. 

I also told her that I can’t handle feeling like she’s going to dump me at any moment and that maybe I need to find a new therapist if this is how our relationship is going to continue to be.  Instead of offering me anything that would make me feel better about this, she just pointed out that I’ve felt this way a lot in my life.  I’ve been on the edge of a lot of relationships in life.  Why do therapists always feel the need to point out the obvious?  At the end of the session she said, “I don’t really know what to tell you.  I am your therapist.  I’m going to be calling Dr. Patrick from the program back.”  The problem is not that she’s my therapist right now.  The problem is that one week she’s my therapist and the next week she says that she thinks that she’s not helping me and that I need to see someone else.  I can’t handle that. 

Is it time to give up on my therapist?  I don’t know if I really feel attached to her because I feel attached to HER or if I’m just afraid of being dumped again.  She triggers all of my issues and sometimes she’s downright mean to me.  She’s really cold at times.  When we have a good session it’s really awesome, but it’s hasn’t been very awesome or helpful lately.  I feel like she kind of forced me to talk about my suicidal feelings.  She pushed and pushed until I opened up about them and then she couldn’t handle it.  Why would she push me to talk about something she can’t handle?  Now I feel like I can’t be completely honest with her about me feelings.  Actually I feel like I can’t really be honest with anyone.  Everything I do and say seems to mean more than it really does right now.  I feel a bit over analyzed which only makes me paranoid about how I should and shouldn’t behave around people.  I can't be too funny.  I can't be too serious.  I can't appear too distant.  I can't appear too needy.  I can't appear too sad.  I can't appear too happy.  I can't figure out how I should be.

I was feeling better right after the hospital.  I was feeling a little more hopeful and a little more determined to change my life but now it all feels a bit useless.  I'm completely useless.  Trying is pointless.  I’m not sure anything will make me feel better anymore.  I’m so tired of life being so hard.  I’m so tired of feeling so alone.  I don’t fit in with the normal people and I don’t fit in with the foster kids.  I don’t fit anywhere.  Neither group wants me.  Normal people view me as a freak and foster kids view me as a freak.  I’m not good enough to fit in with one group and don’t appear to be messed up enough to fit in with the other.  I feel so broken and defective.  I feel so unimportant and unwanted.  I feel so pointless. 

My entire life people have been promising me family and then deciding they don't want me.  I need a family to continue to survive.  I need a family that is too involved in my life.  I need a family that loves me and supports me.  I need a family that makes me a priority and smothers me.  I need a family that I can take for granted.  I need a family like that girl in my program.  I give up.  I know that I am the problem in my life.  I am the reason no one ever wanted me including my biological parents.  There is something completely and utterly wrong with me.  I came out wrong.  I am a mistake.  My life is a mistake.  I thought it would get better when I grew up but it didn’t.  What kept me going when I was a kid was the hope that it would get better when I grew up.  It gave me courage and drive to keep going.  To persevere.  To survive.  But it didn’t get better when I grew up.  I don't want to just survive anymore, but what do I have to keep me going now?