our confused italian friend

today i gave OLIF a lecture on listening to me—specifically, that he shouldn't.

he is the only therapist i ever had who can listen past my merry babblings to hear what is really going on. he did this more when he didn't know me. now he has started to be distracted by what i say.

a year ago he could listen to me babble on for twenty minutes about "I'm doing so much better" and at the end of it say, "You sound really depressed." he needs to go back to that.

when i switched gears from compulsively loafing and shirking my responsibilities, to compulsively over-performing on my responsibilities, he missed how that was not actually any better (although it makes Loopy's life easier).

he was so glad that i was cleaning the house, that he didn't notice how crazy it was when i stayed up until 3 a.m.—after feeling sick all day and finally puking my guts out—compulsively cleaning up and washing christmas dinner dishes by hand. i only managed to stop myself when the drivingly compulsive part of my brain said i should mop the floor.

he didn't really get when i talked about the massive anxiety attack i had christmas eve because i had actually been responsible and finished all the preparations for christmas, and for the whole day of the 24th i really didn't have that much to do. i completely panicked because i felt that i had to have chores and responsibilities in order to feel okay. without them i was lost. this is crazy, boys and girls.

buddhism talks about ignoring the specific actions and looking at the process. the actions, for me, can be compulsive work or compulsive avoidance, but the process is one of aggression toward myself, and avoiding being settled with my true feelings, making decisions in response to circumstances, etc.

he knows i always think in images. he asked today what my image is for feeling grounded, connected to myself. i don't have one. my instinct was that i couldn't make such an image because it was such a dangerous, vulnerable place to be--in me--it's much safer to float away. that's the next place to start.

i don't know if any of htat made any sense. i'm just kind of writing it down. i bought a journal but have felt too disconnected from self to use it.

gotta go pack... finally going home.