Therapy....
I think I need to consider therapy again.
Prior to my relocation to Bath in September 2005, I was receiving some rather intense counselling by way of therapy from my past as a survivor of physical and sexual abuse as a child and teenager. Although I thought I was able to adjust, not that I would like to feel I was ever dependent on the therapy sessions, although they did help me in many many ways, I sometimes think I may have ended those sessions a bit too eagerly.
This past few weeks, I have been struggling with all manner of internal conflicts, and in all honesty, I have no idea what the triggers were. The previous few weeks have been spent in an all-encompassing whirlwind of activity with a view to avoiding what I knew was inevitable. I have helped friends with all manner of things, from PC repairs to health care issues to website assistance to shopping for groceries. When not helping others, I have been working myself mad with my own website, creating music loops as and when inspired, and quite frankly, and somewhat inevitably, I am exhausted.
Yesterday, I was walking from the apartment toward the centre of Bath with Wifeage™ and we were chatting about the movie Quadrophenia as Wifeage™ is keen to watch the movie at some point soon. We were talking about the scene where one of the characters in the movie realises that his idol ~ played by Sting, no less ~ is not the suave sophisticated mod he once believed, but little more than a concierge/bell boy. This shattering of illusions is a key part of this excellent movie as Sting's character's scooter is stolen by way of vengeance and thrown off the cliffs to the holler of 'BELL BOY!!'. At this point, a chap walking a few paces ahead of us turned around and asked if I was taking the mick. I asked why he would think such a thing before realising from his attire of green waistcoat and black tails that he was precisely that ~ a concierge type worker. I politely and calmly explained that we were chatting about Quadrophenia, however, he was not to be placated, preferring instead to remain concvinced we were talking about him. Stalemate.
Earlier this evening, I received news that a fellow musician was struggling with an album being written and recorded. As per usual for me, I posted encouraging words in the hope that they would ease the pressure, only to be told 'your fukin odd (sic)'. I became instantly angered at this seemingly offensive and pithy remark, replying that I would not like to know the response had I been any less than encouraging. The reply to this was that although it was still believed that I was odd, that there is nothing wrong with odd (granted), and that it was not implying that I was at all bad. Perhaps I did over-analyse and over-react, which is why I am relieved that I did not react in the angry manner I was feeling, but I cannot deny just how clear it became at that point that perhaps I am in need of some further help with unresolved anger management issues, of which stem from the abuse when I was younger. That one comment made me so angry I had to go for a walk for half an hour to earth and clear my head as I may have (mis)interpreted it as an attack of some kind, rather than expose Wifeage™ to this.
I do not like the idea of thinking I have a short fuse, which at times, I do, but this is more about tolerance levels, again adding weight to my apparent need for therapy of some kind. I have made a point of isolating myself more than usual these past few days, and I do not wish for people to think I am ignoring or neglecting them. This is not the case. I just need some me time.
Thank you for your time in reading this, and for your patience and understanding.
Best wishes,
Rachael.... ™
Prior to my relocation to Bath in September 2005, I was receiving some rather intense counselling by way of therapy from my past as a survivor of physical and sexual abuse as a child and teenager. Although I thought I was able to adjust, not that I would like to feel I was ever dependent on the therapy sessions, although they did help me in many many ways, I sometimes think I may have ended those sessions a bit too eagerly.
This past few weeks, I have been struggling with all manner of internal conflicts, and in all honesty, I have no idea what the triggers were. The previous few weeks have been spent in an all-encompassing whirlwind of activity with a view to avoiding what I knew was inevitable. I have helped friends with all manner of things, from PC repairs to health care issues to website assistance to shopping for groceries. When not helping others, I have been working myself mad with my own website, creating music loops as and when inspired, and quite frankly, and somewhat inevitably, I am exhausted.
Yesterday, I was walking from the apartment toward the centre of Bath with Wifeage™ and we were chatting about the movie Quadrophenia as Wifeage™ is keen to watch the movie at some point soon. We were talking about the scene where one of the characters in the movie realises that his idol ~ played by Sting, no less ~ is not the suave sophisticated mod he once believed, but little more than a concierge/bell boy. This shattering of illusions is a key part of this excellent movie as Sting's character's scooter is stolen by way of vengeance and thrown off the cliffs to the holler of 'BELL BOY!!'. At this point, a chap walking a few paces ahead of us turned around and asked if I was taking the mick. I asked why he would think such a thing before realising from his attire of green waistcoat and black tails that he was precisely that ~ a concierge type worker. I politely and calmly explained that we were chatting about Quadrophenia, however, he was not to be placated, preferring instead to remain concvinced we were talking about him. Stalemate.
Earlier this evening, I received news that a fellow musician was struggling with an album being written and recorded. As per usual for me, I posted encouraging words in the hope that they would ease the pressure, only to be told 'your fukin odd (sic)'. I became instantly angered at this seemingly offensive and pithy remark, replying that I would not like to know the response had I been any less than encouraging. The reply to this was that although it was still believed that I was odd, that there is nothing wrong with odd (granted), and that it was not implying that I was at all bad. Perhaps I did over-analyse and over-react, which is why I am relieved that I did not react in the angry manner I was feeling, but I cannot deny just how clear it became at that point that perhaps I am in need of some further help with unresolved anger management issues, of which stem from the abuse when I was younger. That one comment made me so angry I had to go for a walk for half an hour to earth and clear my head as I may have (mis)interpreted it as an attack of some kind, rather than expose Wifeage™ to this.
I do not like the idea of thinking I have a short fuse, which at times, I do, but this is more about tolerance levels, again adding weight to my apparent need for therapy of some kind. I have made a point of isolating myself more than usual these past few days, and I do not wish for people to think I am ignoring or neglecting them. This is not the case. I just need some me time.
Thank you for your time in reading this, and for your patience and understanding.
Best wishes,
Rachael.... ™
