Two months of struggles over my attachment to my therapist. It can get wearing. I seem to have a penchant for getting stuck and have found something new to get stuck on. Or perhaps a kinder interpretation would be that E and I are working on very deep issues of connection and trust, and I’m finding it painful and difficult.
My teenage self has been advocating for breaking up with E. When she gets up on her soapbox, she is passionate, insistent, dramatic. Sometimes I find myself believing her. But the thing about teenagers is they can take things a little too far. So my teen, earlier this week, was a good example of that. Her train of thought ran this way:
We gave up our job to get a more peaceful life. Why should we keep other things that don’t bring us peace? We should give up therapy. It isn’t helping. We can just let go of these things. We can detach. We can detach from family–we already have detached from many of them. We can pull away more. We can pull away from the marriage. Just give it all up. Everything. Give up this life. Give up life. Let go of everything. Dying will bring peace.
There are times when that line of thinking shifts to the forefront for me, and for a while, the argument seems to make sense. There’s no peace in life, so choose not-life. I remember feeling like that as a teen, 15 or 16 years old. I felt that way again earlier this week.
But that’s going too far. I promised myself a long time ago, no suicide. I waver on that sometimes, but it’s a good decision. I know it. I think I know it. No, I know it.
So I’m looking for ways now to convince the teen self, the self-destructive self, that there is hope. I have to figure out what she needs to believe that.