Can't cancel

Today is Thursday, and since it is already well into the evening, I can't cancel my appointment with my therapist tomorrow unless I want to get charged....or unless I come up with some lie, which I'm not about to do.

I'm already dreading the thought of going. I can feel the panic throughout every inch of my body. Even when I try to take deep breaths and relax my muscles, try to listen to music to distract, nothing provides any relief. I'm almost hoping the panic increases to the point I actually do have a heart attack, instead of just feeling like I will, so that I have an excuse not to go.

I failed to give myself credit for most of the things I did this week, because nothing I did seemed like it was a choice. Everything on my to do list involved my daughter and therefore I had to do them. I had to take her and her boyfriend to the Cradle of Filth concert on Sunday because we'd already purchased tickets and it was part of his Christmas gift. I had to drive her to and from school because I told the school at the beginning of the year that I would drive her and told them they could save time and money by removing her stop from the bus route (since she does not go to the high school she should based on district boundaries, she is the only person in our neighborhood the bus had to stop for...the next closest person on that bus route lives half a mile away). I had to take her to Target to get food, socks and other personal items.

The only thing I give myself credit for is acknowledging the self injury I've been partaking in and taking at least one step to stop it. My usual method is cutting and I'm VERY meticulous about it. About where on my body I cut, when I cut, where I'm at emotionally when I cut and I always make sure to use a clean blade. The last several weeks I've been engaging in other, less damaging, methods because I don't have any clean blades and I've been too depressed to bother going to the hardware store to buy them. I'm sure the professionals would say nothing is less damaging because I'm still feeding the same monster, but by less damaging I mean physical damage to my body.

I LOVE to pluck my eyebrows. I'm obsessive about it and check them everyday. One of the things I like most about it is that mere second of pain when you pull the hair out. I'm not about to pluck my eyebrows completely off, but I did find a way to increase that pain on a larger scale and it dates back to the 80's. There was an electric shaver they released called the Epilady. Most people called it the Epitorture because it pulled your leg hairs out by the root and due to poor design, did it in such a way that most found it too painful to use.

Even I will admit that at first I found it too painful to use, which is funny because by the time this thing was released, I'd already been cutting for several years. One Saturday morning my mother woke me up and said we're going to go run an errand (I must have needed something for school), and that she wanted me to get dressed immediately or I could forget about ever getting it. She wouldn't allow me time to shower, which she knew was incredibly important to me, so I had to go out in public with greasy hair and no make up. I was pissed as hell at her so when I got home I immediately showered but because my sisters were home, I didn't have any place to hide so I could cut. Instead I broke out the Epilady, intent on shaving both legs because I knew it was going to hurt like hell and I needed that release.

Anyway, about a week ago, with no razorblades to cut with and the Epilady in mind, I decided I'd just use a pair of tweezers and pluck the hair on my legs out, one by one. It wasn't quite as effective as cutting, because the blood plays a huge part in the release, but just being able to inflict pain on myself helped. Over the course of 8 days (I went very slowly to insure maximum pain), I managed to do half of each leg...everything below both knees. Today I finally took the step to stop it and just shaved the rest of my legs and bikini area out of concern that if I didn't stop now, I wasn't going to ever stop. Even now, with my legs and everything all clear of hair, I keep thinking...."hmmm, there's always your arms".

I haven't yet been able to stop depriving myself of food, the other behaviour I've been engaging in. I've been forcing myself to sit with my hunger and relish it. I'll sometimes go to the fridge or the cabinet and force myself to look at and smell the food, making the hunger pangs even stronger, just so I can create more suffering. I'm not starving myself completely, I have allowed myself a quarter bowl of cereal or some yogurt or even an apple so my daughter doesn't catch on. It helps that she's gone for a good portion of the day...even longer now that she has rehearsal for the school play after school three days a week.

There is a limit to how much personal information I'm willing to share with my therapist per session. I still don't trust the woman at all, and I need to keep her at what I feel is a safe distance. Tomorrow I'm sure we'll talk about the whole giving myself credit for the things I do and I'll explain once again why I can't take credit for the things I feel I don't have a choice about doing. To counter the negative reception that response will bring, I will mention the plucking and how I did give myself credit for stopping that. That was all about me, so I know I had a choice and I tried to make the right choice.

I already know, she's not going to think giving myself credit for one thing is good enough and that is going to piss me off. Nothing I ever did was good enough for my mother, and it seems that's the same response I get from all the therapists I've ever had. Maybe that's why therapy doesn't seem to be working for me. Even though I'm trying to take baby steps, that's never good enough and therapy turns into just one more constant reminder of the failure I am. A reminder of how I don't measure up to everyone else. It's like the therapist becomes my mother and I have to endure the endless tirades of verbal and emotional abuse all over again.