Change-y

Change fucking sucks. 

Especially when its me who has to bring it about.

You know, that’s not even true.  It sucks when it just occurs without my input, too.

I want to delete all that I wrote, and write something much more pleasant, in the tune of cocoons and transformation, and growing pains and bullshit like that, but no.  Change fucking sucks.

Its like I started feeling better, woke up, looked around, and said “Wait a sec.  Things aren’t done yet.”  And then I see the laundry list of things to be done or to be overcome.

The first is that I’m going to lose my therapist.  Something built on complexity dealing with breaking down barriers and telling things I have never told anyone to him, and getting the weird balancing act of how to love someone within the confines of a therapeutic relationship.  And I don’t want more than that... I just don’t want to say goodbye yet.  I’m not well.  I’m not fucking well, and as much as I know that it is my responsibility to get there, I feel like my map is being taken away.  I mean, how do I even deal with the last sessions?  I already am a clock watcher, wanting to get the most out of fifty minutes, and it drives me nuts that he doesn’t share my paranoid babble that goes nowhere.

I’m going to miss him.  A lot.  And am afraid that its going to be too big of a loss.

So there’s that.

And there are other things… things that I don’t want to think about, so of course, I spend all of my time thinking about.  things that are huge and monstrous, and I have to deal with as they come.  And unlike the letting go of my therapist, I have to start the ball rolling.

And it fucking sucks, just thinking about it.

At this point, I do the check in, the I-am-still-having-a-hard-fucking-time moment, because I look back at what I say, and wonder if it comes off as bellyaching, as some poor lil white boy with his privileged lil depression.

Fuck it.  Maybe I am.  I have always been paranoid that I’m just a selfish little brat, the youngest child, so you know what that means, right?  In all of my relationships, I have this insecurity, and the fucked up thing?  There is an element of truth.  Its not that I haven’t worked hard, but maybe I’ve just been too emotional at jobs- tried too much- became despondent when I thought no one noticed, or felt like they capitalized on my efforts, wanting me to do more. 

So, I quit.  Other than contract jobs, I have quit every job I have had.  And the longest was this last job at New Seasons, about two and a half years.  I look at job stuff now, and know I can’t do much because of the anxiety, and then look at my skill set, which is primarily in customer service.  What can I do to change?

My idea- write more.  Send out stories, get that started.  Nice.  Very sort of privileged outlook- a few stories will pay the bills.  Maybe eventually, but what about now?  What about something more stable, more…

And here’s where I get into trouble.  Here’s where I jump from laissez-faire to everything-right-now.

Doesn’t matter what job, take it.  Self worth is involved- you can’t even hack it in real life- you can’t even pay your own way, you fucking loser!

So, middle ground(DBT would say wise mind) is lost.

Like I said, now is time to change.  time to reach the middle ground and go towards something so terrifying to me, so frustrating, so… just so fucking hard. 

Towards me.

Change is a fucking bitch.