To Lady T (My Psychologist)

[Sceal]

I was sitting down to write the letter to Lady T that I mentioned in my journal, and I got to the second line and I didn't quite know how to continue. I stopped to think and so many things that I want to say came to mind. And I'm not quite sure if it's to her that I want to say them all, or to the world, or to myself. But, I just need to write them all down and sort it later.


To Lady T,
I was going to write to you about a memory of mine, a very difficult one. And after I had apologized for my awful handwriting and that I had a few words I wanted to say before the memory itself, my mind went everywhere. And I couldn't quite decide upon what I should and want to actually say.

Words are difficult, not only because I'm dyslectic, but because I often find I don't have the right words or that I feel the words doesn't rightly connect with what I'm feeling or intending. I had been struggling, I felt, to describe exactly what I want to say. To prevent it getting lost in translation. More often than not I've experienced being misunderstood. It's unpleasant.

I have worries, concerns and questions about how the next six months will go. I fear I will get bad, and I fear I don't have enough coping mechanisms. I'm not quite sure that's true however. I've been doing poorly before, and I got through that. Yet somehow that doesn't matter. One would think that with all the exposure therapy and the experience and re-experience of going through depressive periods with or without hyperarousal I should be more optimistic or atleast believe in myself that I can get through this too. I am blabbering, I want to believe that I can do it this time. That now I am prepared and ready to talk about all my nightmares. That I am strong enough. And then there's this voice asking me: "Am I being realistic now?", and I don't know.

I am scared. I am scared to fail, because if I fail again - I am not really sure what more to do. I don't know how I am going to just keep going again. I am talking about the gallery, therapy and the surgery - all of it, as well as life in-between. I've used up all my plans. A, to G, I'm on H. I've compromised alot, I've lost alot, I've had to give up on alot. I don't know what else I can give if I fail at this now. And I know, I know, that the pressure of succeeding becomes all the more higher, and makes it all the more difficult for me to actually get past it. And it's moments like this I am worried that I've got what's called "learned helplessness", just waiting for myself to fail so I can point at me and say "There,  I told me - I couldn't do it. And here's the proof". And god I hope not, I hope that's not me.

This is going in a totally different direction than I intended.

So, to back up a little for a moment. I think I want, and need to start talking about my nightmares. I am not sure I will be able to do it without fading away or freezing, or panicking. Maybe I'll end up distansing myself from what's happening - which I understand is a defence mechanism too, but I doubt it'll be particularly helpful to what I am aiming to achieve. I will need help to talk, I'll need to be prompted, because I think we both know I will automatically avoid the topics if I can. Even if I don't notice it myself that's what I'm doing.  But I realise I need to just jump in:

[Sceal]

I finished the section where I mention my trauma. It left me feeling sick. I haven't looked at it since I wrote it all down. I'm not sure if I dare to re-read it to check if I need to change my writing or spelling. Or add or remove anything to it.

I still have to write the introduction to it. The words I fear I'll fail to say outloud before I give it to her. A part of me is wondering if an introduction is even needed. But there's loads I wish I could say, want to say. That's unrelated. I'm even not sure if I'm ready to face my past. But if I never do, I'll never get anywhere. It's a turmoil in my head.

And when I remove all the exuces, all the discomfort.. I realize it comes down to fear.

Fear of what? I'm not sure.

[Sceal]

In the end I wrote a whole different start of that letter. It took me a long time to give it to her, but I did.
I was there when she read it, but we haven't talked about it. I'm not sure if I'm ready yet, or it's hard to explain - but I just don't know what to say about it. She told me over and over and over again that she believes in me and that she trusts me. That she's known me for a while know and that she really believes me.
It made me cry when she said she trusts me, I didn't expect that. That she trusts me I mean.

For all the kindness, support and help she's given me.. I wish there was something I could help her with. I know she's a professional and that it's her job. But it isn't her job to actually believe in me, it just makes it easier for her to do her job, so I treasure that.