Yesterday I was thinking about the distance I have to travel to see Sam, along with his fee and the cost in gas. I had come to the conclusion that there was no need to continue because I had seen no progress. Our sessions seem to be redundant and there have been no “light bulb” moments.
I understand that there is no “magic pill” and I never expected one but I did expect to feel a little better after rehashing the same old bullshit that I have talked about with therapists for the last ten years.
I was watching one of my medical shows last night and one of the main players is seeing a therapist. She mentions that she doesn’t feel any better after their meetings. Bingo! I knew exactly how she felt.
Her therapist casually remarked “that’s because it’s working.”
WHAT? Was he kidding? You go to enormous expense to try to FIND a way to heal and when you feel like you’re not getting better, the answer is “that’s because it’s working?”
I know I’m naive but I’m not an idiot. True, I’m also not a therapist but that statement makes absolutely no sense to me. That’s like charging a battery once a week and when your car still won’t start, you say “that’s because it’s working.” No, it’s not. It’s a dead fucking battery! That’s the problem.
I don’t think I’m asking for too much. I know there are probably never going to be any answers. All I want is a little clarity. That’s what he promised. I think the only thing that is clear is that I am fucked the hell up.
My RBS called me today and we talked about my son. I told her he asked me to send his pictures to him to try to sell.
Loser had gotten me a mat cutter and a picture frame maker for Christmas one year. She had the brilliant idea of me getting off my ass (my words, not hers) and framing his art. After we hung up, she immediately called me back to gently tell me that sometimes people act Gung Ho about something but then it fades.
I get comments that I am a “good writer” and “I should write a book.” It piques my interest and I start thinking “maybe I could” but I just have no confidence in my writing ability.
This is different. This is my sons’ art. There’s no lack of confidence in his work. For him to see his artwork framed and hanging somewhere just may be the catalyst toward making him feel like he mattered.
It would mean so much to J***** if Loser saw some value in his artwork but he has never expressed any interest or encouragement and has certainly never offered any praise.
Speaking of son…I haven’t heard from him since the last time he shot me with both barrels. That usually means that he’s on a bender and I’m worried about him. It’s cold…even where he is and I felt guilty when I went to bed last night.
I was dreaming this morning and heard my doorbell. I thought “maybe it’s UPS.” It was pitch black outside and I thought I’d try to peek out of my blinds. Suddenly I thought “oh, no…it might be the police with bad news…I think I’m going to act like I’m not here…but my radio was blasting and I knew I couldn’t feign absence so I decided to take a look.
I could not get my eyes to open. The next thing I knew I was back in my bed and I heard J***** say “mom” just as plain as day. I sat up, expecting to see him in my room.
I hope this is not a bad sign.