Write Where It Hurts

Just so you know I wrote this a while ago possibly on a tram on the way home from work of a morning. Also I was inspired by the antisocial teen cartoon Daria. (For those of you not in the know). 

Forget the talking cure or I don't like the talking cure. I much prefer the writing cure. I hate talking about myself but I don't mind writing about myself. Either way I usually feel like I can't accurately explain how I feel.
I notice I try to put some context in my blog writing but feel the detail gets boring. It has that, "You had to be there" feeling without inspiring envy that you weren't.
I'm sure I'm not the only one who writes like that, especially in the bloggersphere. And if I was less hard on myself I'd see there is something enjoyable and vicarious in reading good blogs. I thought I'd be more popular than this. And it shits me that I'm not. After all the praise I've had about my writing from teachers and friends. Dear Blog, I expected way too much from you.
Sex sells, so I tried sexing it up, hence this second blog. But maybe I need to keep it real; write where it hurts.
I have thought about going back to therapy and Leo. I'm worried about not being able to get back in and that's putting me off a bit. Silly I know. I'll get through that then worry it'll be exactly the same with me clamming up and painfully sobbing. So why bother you may ask? Well I know I'm not happy with myself or my life. Leo knows it too, "It can be better Amy." he sounded convinced and sincere even to my cynical ears.

Make Up The Breakup

I broke up with my therapist yesterday. As much as I tended to disliked therapy it still feels traumatic walking away from it. Like it always does. I guess the only other example I can give is when I left cleaning the first time. I hated it so much but I cried on the street when I left to catch my tram home. It was a giant leap into the unknown and hence I understand why it felt so dramatic, not to mention terrifying, for me. I can only speculate as to what is distressing me about walking away from therapy.
My therapist suggested I tell my GP that I have decided to stop going to see him. I managed to do that this morning. I thought she'd be a bit more, I don't know. I don't want to say she should have pushed me to give it a second chance but it feels like they both should have. She seemed so proud of me when I first started going, seeing as I was so hesitant at times about the whole process. I've said to her and the two therapists I've seen "I don't know what to say." I don't know what to expect and I feel like I don't get how it works. The last few sessions he said to me, "This is your time Amy" and constantly reassured me that I can say anything I want. But I don't feel comfortable talking about myself generally and the relationship is too one-sided. I'm proud I actually told him that's how I felt, and he agreed but....shit! It just wasn't working for me. That upset me a lot yesterday too. If therapy doesn't work then what will? I can't tell if the drugs make any difference and I know I'm not happy but what the fuck am I supposed to do now? When I told my mum she said, "You're not going to do anything stupid are you?" When I established she meant kill myself I told her I didn't think it was stupid. But no, I don't think I'll kill myself over therapy. Not when there are so many other upsetting things in my life to push me over the edge! [And it really is MY life that I hate. For the most part I'm not against Life].
I am too indecisive. There have been many occasions when I wanted a situation to change but I couldn't do anything about it. That is to say, I didn't know how to, or I was too scared to. The example that comes to mind was when I started high school in the UK, about a year earlier than we do in Australia. I had no idea what was going on and I just couldn't cope with any of it. I lied about doing homework and I was being bullied by older boys. The few girls from primary school that went with me seemed to be making new friends and coping well. I was a complete mess. So much so that I developed a disgusting stress reaction on my hands that made all the skin peel off. The thing that got me through was knowing we would be returning to Melbourne soon so my dad could take part in the elections up in Papua New Guinea. (He didn't win, that time). Although I eventually made friends here and was more than capable at keeping up with the school work - it was just boring a lot of the time - I couldn't wait to get out of Australia. My fingers were crossed hoping my dad would get another posting so we could leave again. We did after four years but the move was to Seoul, South Korea. I knew I wasn't going to like it there, even though I lied to myself that I was happy to be living overseas again. It was horrible. My point is I don't take control of my life. Or I don't like to.
It looks like I've broken up with Terry as well. Either way I don't feel a sense of relief. At least not a complete one. I know it will never be over with Terry. He has been anticipating an end to the sexual relationship possibly since the start. The way he tells it I'll meet someone more age appropriate and settle down but there willalways be a friendship and connection between us. The only part I like about this is us still being friends. There are times when I find Terry extremely selfish putting forward this "plan." He can have me till he dies - fuck, deal with that one Amy! - or I move on. I don't think I really want that. I don't need a placeholder. Maybe I'm a slut but I like the relationships I've developed with other men. I'm not thrilled that they tend to be married but now I've experienced a bit of a relationship it seems that being a bit on the side suits me better. Originally it really upset me that Terry would want me like this. I don't want him to be my practice partner. I don't want to think of him dying either. It's the same problem from day one when we met online: the bloody age gap! How could I not be a bitch if I abandoned him when things got too difficult or gross? (That is if I had to care for him as he grew older. And what if we did have kids? I don't want to be caring for people at the two extremes of life. He doesn't want that for me either but if we have a full, living together relationship then how could I ever leave based on him getting older and needing care? Fuck! I feel damned if I do, damned if I don't).

I don't think any of this is over. However our time is up.