Slipping – An Entry About Doubt

I can feel myself slipping. Only I’m not entirely sure what I’m slipping into, or what I’m slipping away from. All I know is that I’m slipping, that I’m loosing my grip, somehow.

It’s been going on for a while now, and I’m sure that there are a million different reasons why it’s happening. But that doesn’t really help with this feeling I have inside.

I’m not sure if this is depression rearing its ugly head again, or if, maybe, it’s a sign of change. Or if it is, in fact, a combination of the two.

I feel kind of helpless, and I don’t like that feeling. I used to be able to check myself. No matter what was going on, I could always check myself, control myself. Make sure things didn’t go in a direction I didn’t want them to go. But right now I feel like I’m wandering aimlessly in this foggy darkness, and I have no idea how to find my way out.

It’s different from how I felt, say, a year ago. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. There is no urgent wish to just end it all. And yet, at the same time, those thoughts, although half-hearted in comparison, do pop up with frightening ease and frequency.

I don’t think I’m a real risk to myself. I keep reminding myself of things that have been said to me, about how I have what it takes to be good to myself. That the fact that someone hurt me back then doesn’t mean that I have to keep on doing that to myself. But it’s hard. It’s really really hard.

I have started seeing a new therapist. And I’m just not sure about it. Not about the need to be in therapy, to work through my issues. Actually, I’m as convinced about the need for that as I ever was. But I’m not sure if this is the person to do it with. I’m not sure she’s right for me.

As I’ve mentioned before I’ve had a few different counsellors and therapists in my life. Some were very good matches and some were at the very opposite end of the scale. And I think this new person, well, as much as I wanted her to be someone I could do some good work with.. I’m not sure. It’s not just the language barrier (like me, English is not her first language, and she seems to often not understand the words I use), nor is it a case of her not yet knowing my background well enough to be able to respond in a meaningful way. It’s not even the fact that the interpretations she relentlessly throws at me feel very much like Psychology 101. No, it’s something more than that. Deeper. It’s something missing. Something vital. A connection that needs to be there, but that just doesn’t exist.

No matter how much I try to convince myself that maybe it’s merely a matter of allowing more time; that it’s unreasonable to think that anyone would be able to get me after such a short time, after so few meetings – well – I keep returning to that one point; that there is no real connection between us. Because, although – with all of my previous therapists it’s taken a long time for me trust, to test, to suss out what they are about – with some of them I’ve just intuitively known that there was a potential to do some serious work with. And with others I knew that it – real therapy – would just never happen.

And I’m worried that this person falls into the latter category.

I don’t want that to be the case. In actual fact, I’ve kind of decided to give it – to give us – at least another five sessions to find out if maybe, just maybe, I’ve got it all wrong. That maybe there is something there, something that I have so far failed to detect. Because, it would be so much better if that was the case.

I’m just scared to find out how far I will continue to slip before I know for sure. Especially if it turns out that my instincts are right.

Because it’s a long way to climb to get back to where I was.


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