I've spent a measly 15 minutes on trying to figure out how to make my personalized template for this blog. That's all I can stand to spend. I'm such an impatient little bugger. On top of it all, I am such a confused and irritable piece of bubble wrap. Or porcupine fur.
"You're not unipolar"
Dare I say I am becoming accustomed/reliant on the weekly sessions with Herr Doktor? My mum cancelled my next week's meeting without consulting me because of her attending her bloody family meeting. Such a selfish little ___. So I ring the shrink today to get my appointment back, sans la mère. I don't even know why the lady insists that my mum come in the first place. She is always tired, never fully concentrates on what's being said, forgets it entirely as soon as she's paid the bill and it's not like there's any overt effect of the convos in our family life interactions. BLAH!
So the shrink says I have misdiagnosed myself, or have been misdiagnosed. I don't suffer from unipolar depression, but another "disorder". Whoop! What's even more of a hoot is that she hasn't told me what she thinks it is. She's waiting till next week after she's analyzed the useless HFD and HTP drawings, so that she can further make a biased judgement over me. I accepted it on Tuesday, but that's after I've suffered an entire hour and a half of listening, talking, analyzing and feeling shitty (not really, but let me have this rant). And now. Now I'm pissed mad and wanting to know now now now and in my ire I would refute everything she says and tell her she's a liar. Bloody mood swings. Really, could I be bipolar? Seriously, it makes sense. Except for the sexual promiscuity part of it. Well... no, never mind.
The House-Tree-Person drawing thing was new. Apparently, the house signifies how you see your home environment, the tree as how you feel about yourself and the person is [to be inserted later]. I drew completely rudimentary house and tree. I mean, it was a kiddy drawing. What a load of bollocks. Not as though she'll have anything POSITIVE to tell me about them. BOLLOCKS!
She also said, with her version of a knowing eye, "You're not a winner." I said okay then, but now I feel it's completely bollocks. Is that frigging psychobabble for "You're a loser"? FUCKETY FUCK.
She's given me homework, which I am glad to be doing because my life is so empty right now. Sunset is at 5:45 pm and cable television sucks. The good movies come early in the morning or late at night. I watched Swimming Upstream yesterday. Quintessentially 60s Australia (from what my memory serves me about that time *eye roll*) and beautifully acted by Jesse Spencer. Phwoar!
Celebs with the most kissable lips:
Jesse Spencer
James McAvoy
Cillian Murphy
[more to be added]
So my first question to do is:
How to deal with an emotional difficulty. I'm addressing both anger and sorrow. Ah, need to add anxiety as well.
I don't think I'll ever really become a counselling therapist. I hate all of their guts, thanks to projection or whatever the hell it is. I don't think I'd ever care enough to do this for a variety of people: gay, married, on drugs, anger management issues. Frankly, I'd just say: oh bugger off all to Hell. Go to someone who cares - and then they'd end with the right kind of therapist, I hope!
I've been considering once again interning at OUP Pakistan. But I fear I can't do it or, more importantly, that I don't feel passionately about it so it will end up all turd-shaped.
Let look at the alternatives - one of the positive statements she told me to give myself. THERE ARE NO GOOD BLOODY ALTERNATIVES. There's me staying here and continuing this self annihilating existence, whereby I don't make the most of being in Pakistan and stay at home all the damned day, there's me going back to London to do God knows what - it is so not an option right now. Those are all the alternatives I can think of.
God, I freaking wish I could videotape all the sessions. I forget almost all that she tell me to do. She's hoping it will somehow sink into my subconsciousness. My question is: I've mulled over the same bloody thing and have had people tell me the same things you have - even if they aren't empathic, surely it must sink in somehow. The visualisation she gave me is kind of crap anyway. Even with my own modifications.
She keeps on telling me she's teaching me about all the methods so I can use them and refer back to them when I am no longer in therapy and she says in a few months. I've been messed up for 14 years and she thinks it'll take under a year to sort it all out. I bloody hope so. But, I have this knack of swinging the axe right through my legs.
I'm a resistant little bugger of a client. And I have absolutely no idea why.
End of rant.
OK. I can't not end the rant without this. If you don't appreciate people swearing, don't read this. But oh it makes me feel so good to say it all.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck twat twat cunt cunt faggot salop connasse. Worm's bloody tit.
"You're not unipolar"
Dare I say I am becoming accustomed/reliant on the weekly sessions with Herr Doktor? My mum cancelled my next week's meeting without consulting me because of her attending her bloody family meeting. Such a selfish little ___. So I ring the shrink today to get my appointment back, sans la mère. I don't even know why the lady insists that my mum come in the first place. She is always tired, never fully concentrates on what's being said, forgets it entirely as soon as she's paid the bill and it's not like there's any overt effect of the convos in our family life interactions. BLAH!
So the shrink says I have misdiagnosed myself, or have been misdiagnosed. I don't suffer from unipolar depression, but another "disorder". Whoop! What's even more of a hoot is that she hasn't told me what she thinks it is. She's waiting till next week after she's analyzed the useless HFD and HTP drawings, so that she can further make a biased judgement over me. I accepted it on Tuesday, but that's after I've suffered an entire hour and a half of listening, talking, analyzing and feeling shitty (not really, but let me have this rant). And now. Now I'm pissed mad and wanting to know now now now and in my ire I would refute everything she says and tell her she's a liar. Bloody mood swings. Really, could I be bipolar? Seriously, it makes sense. Except for the sexual promiscuity part of it. Well... no, never mind.
The House-Tree-Person drawing thing was new. Apparently, the house signifies how you see your home environment, the tree as how you feel about yourself and the person is [to be inserted later]. I drew completely rudimentary house and tree. I mean, it was a kiddy drawing. What a load of bollocks. Not as though she'll have anything POSITIVE to tell me about them. BOLLOCKS!
She also said, with her version of a knowing eye, "You're not a winner." I said okay then, but now I feel it's completely bollocks. Is that frigging psychobabble for "You're a loser"? FUCKETY FUCK.
She's given me homework, which I am glad to be doing because my life is so empty right now. Sunset is at 5:45 pm and cable television sucks. The good movies come early in the morning or late at night. I watched Swimming Upstream yesterday. Quintessentially 60s Australia (from what my memory serves me about that time *eye roll*) and beautifully acted by Jesse Spencer. Phwoar!
Celebs with the most kissable lips:
Jesse Spencer
James McAvoy
Cillian Murphy
[more to be added]
So my first question to do is:
How to deal with an emotional difficulty. I'm addressing both anger and sorrow. Ah, need to add anxiety as well.
I don't think I'll ever really become a counselling therapist. I hate all of their guts, thanks to projection or whatever the hell it is. I don't think I'd ever care enough to do this for a variety of people: gay, married, on drugs, anger management issues. Frankly, I'd just say: oh bugger off all to Hell. Go to someone who cares - and then they'd end with the right kind of therapist, I hope!
I've been considering once again interning at OUP Pakistan. But I fear I can't do it or, more importantly, that I don't feel passionately about it so it will end up all turd-shaped.
Let look at the alternatives - one of the positive statements she told me to give myself. THERE ARE NO GOOD BLOODY ALTERNATIVES. There's me staying here and continuing this self annihilating existence, whereby I don't make the most of being in Pakistan and stay at home all the damned day, there's me going back to London to do God knows what - it is so not an option right now. Those are all the alternatives I can think of.
God, I freaking wish I could videotape all the sessions. I forget almost all that she tell me to do. She's hoping it will somehow sink into my subconsciousness. My question is: I've mulled over the same bloody thing and have had people tell me the same things you have - even if they aren't empathic, surely it must sink in somehow. The visualisation she gave me is kind of crap anyway. Even with my own modifications.
She keeps on telling me she's teaching me about all the methods so I can use them and refer back to them when I am no longer in therapy and she says in a few months. I've been messed up for 14 years and she thinks it'll take under a year to sort it all out. I bloody hope so. But, I have this knack of swinging the axe right through my legs.
I'm a resistant little bugger of a client. And I have absolutely no idea why.
End of rant.
OK. I can't not end the rant without this. If you don't appreciate people swearing, don't read this. But oh it makes me feel so good to say it all.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck twat twat cunt cunt faggot salop connasse. Worm's bloody tit.
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