Permission to be Stronger

October 3, 2010 at 8:46 am (dissociation complex Ptsd trauma child sexual abuse DID psychology survivor)
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I have therapy homework this week. I asked for it, usually C will say go live your life then tell me about it. But this past Wednesday when I said just tell me what to think about this week I need a rest from my head, she gave me some. She didn’t just spit out a rote thisiswhatitellmyclientstodowhentheyaskforhomework kinda thing. She looked piercingly in the distance for a few minutes then started to talk.

She said think about giving yourself permission to be stronger. Give yourself permission to come into your own, to sort of give birth to the very strong woman who you are. She says I’d be interested in what you have to say about that. You don’t have to DO anything right now, you don’t have to CHANGE anything right now, don’t work that hard on it. Just entertain the idea and let me know what you came up with next week.

It’s a good assignment for me. I have lived my entire life from a perspective that dictates that I just respond to what comes flying at me. Good bad indifferent, I fend off the world. It saddens me to realize that at 50 years of age, some 38 years after my abuse stopped and nearly 15 years in therapy that I am still viewing the world from a victim stance. I asked her–my god when do I stop being a victim? She said you are very astute just getting that this is where your brain functions tells me you are beginning to get over it.

Whenever C talks about me taking charge of my own life I kinda freak. I know I do so because she will say wow check out your body language hon this is making you really anxious. Why is that?

It’s too much responsibility to have control over my life. C says you’re a successful businesswoman and after all that happened to you you’re still here. You have a relationship that might not be perfect but you’ve been able to keep it together for over 15 years and that is amazing. She says you’re already doing it, you are already taking control, you just don’t want to admit it. Why?

I say then I guess I don’t know. C says not so easy darlin’ you’ll have to think about it and open your mouth about it. She says I know it feels like you’re shooting in the dark right now but that’s okay because if you start to fall I will let you know and you can think about something else.

So here I am. My mind is going ummmmmm….got nothing. But there are some things I do know about this. I know that it scares me to let go of my primary perp. As horridly as I was mutilated by the man, he was all I had. I have the tendency to disregard my newborn health and progress as much as I treasure it. I suppose he has been with me my whole life and without him I still feel like I’m nothing. Nobody is there. Like shouting down an empty well.

As long as my perp has continued to strongly influence my behavior I am not alone. Somebody else knows what happened to me. And until I can really truly and fully let go of that self-perception as someone who was horridly abused as a kid and who had all these really horrendous things happen to her at least I have an identity.

For nothing will happen to me in the future that can have anything close to that kind of impact on me. Seems like my life was over at 12 when the bastard finally stopped going after me and just vanished into thin air.

And so I have held on to this identity I have some meaning in the world.

Just reading the words that are coming up on this screen causes me trememdous self-loathing, shame, a sense of being totally full of shit. Jesus. There it is again, victim victim victim. Even if it’s only me doing the abuse. This is what I know.

My readers will know that I am entranced by the concept of neuroplasticity. I see literal images in my mind of the old road and Springtime that’s new neural pathways. I’ve been having some great success with taking these gambles, and it gets easier to seek them out the more I do it. But this one causes me to completely recode my awareness of my place on the planet. From somebody whose only value is to be used as sadistic cruelty to an adult woman who controls her own destiny, who has tremendous power to determine her life.

So. How do I give myself permission to become myself? So far I’ve been doing okay trying to just change my behaviors and the messages coming at me from my mind. And then sit in C’s office and let her tell me the significance of acting as I have. “It’s your life, is that what you wanna do?” Yikes. I didn’t even know what she was talking about the first time the words came from her mouth. Now I’m getting an inkling of the concept. Scares the shit out of me.

One tiny piece at a time. This is the secret I suppose. So my little bit for the next few days is to think about letting that victim thing go. I can feel changes, a few at least. For instance, I no longer have to hang onto the idea that no one has ever suffered as much as I have. My entire life I have had to have “the worst” to justify my intense pain. Not so much any more. Not at all really. I now tend to embrace in my mere survival. I am comforted by not being so isolated, so totally alone in the history of my anguish. AS long as I was isolated from the rest of humanity I could remain some kind of monster. I am not alone so not isolated so not a monster.

I am a human being, a miracle of kids’ toughness and ingenuity. Just like everyone else on the planet. So I am much better able to establish an identity that is separate myself from other people in terms of human need. Boundaries? Son of a bitch, I have them. This is pretty damn huge for me.

As I’m typing I can hear the voices screeching. Now I can tell them to just shut up, which more and more often is working. I am like the first nuclear bomb test. Nobody knew if the thing was even going to work but by damn it did. And it changed the world.

Certainly there will be more to come on this topic but it is time to put it away for now. Because I said so. Because it’s good self care to put this away for now and go do something. I think I’ll take a little run.

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How meditation is freeing from control

July 8, 2010 at 9:49 am (dissociation complex Ptsd trauma child sexual abuse DID psychology survivor)
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OK, so in my last post I suppose that I did not do a very good job of explaining why meditation and qi gong are so freeing. Or how what seems like might be inviting chaos actually eliminates it with practice.

I have a sense that meditation can be a very scary idea. I mean, you’re just sitting there and god knows what awful things can pop into your head, right? And there you’ll be, sitting like an idiot with anxiety that is shooting the roof, all triggery and flashbacky and god knows what other.

What I think many people try to do to control their thoughts is to suppress them when they come up. Like pushing them down deep inside themselves. Oftentimes this effort includes some sort of behavior, like drinking or drugging or manipulating their food intake. Or they panic. We exert these behaviors to get away from our thoughts because it’s hard to do all that suppressing. So we do what we do to make that process easier.

But here’s the cold hard reality. It doesn’t work. By restricting or poisoning ourselves we hurt our bodies and that’s about it. Think about it. If these behavior worked, if suppression worked, wouldn’t the nightmares in our heads go away? The sad truth is that no they don’t. We may feel a temporary relief from them, but because we aren’t addressing them they just come back. Over and over and over again. So we end up chasing our own tail, repeating self-harming tactics as we give our scary thoughts more strength because we’re still afraid.

And so. Can we see where all the shit we do to not feel to not remember just won’t work unless we deal with them head-on? You know the shit we do doesn’t work or we wouldn’t continue to be so afraid.

Thoughts are just that, thoughts. They come and go all the time. The ones that stick around are the ones we pay attention to. They’re kinda like cats. Lolling about most of the time, wake up to clamor for attention, then go back to snoozing. If your cat receives no attention from you she’ll eventually go away.

This is why meditation is so great. It teaches you to let the nightmares come into your head, lets you see oh there’s that pile of hot mess — and then just let it go. You don’t feed the beast. My regular readers know that I perceive myself to be a black hole where fuckall badness gets into me and sucks down right onto my head. For me, meditation allows me to sit at the bottom of my black hole and see what horrors are out there. But if I just let them be, refocus my mind onto something else like moving my energy around or focusing on the smell of my incense, they stay out there in orbit. They don’t come crashing in on me because I just don’t give them that power.

As we practice it gets easier and easier to do this. Imagine sitting there breathing playing around with your qi, and suddenly you’re aware that a horrible memory has popped into your head. You have the power to say “Eww god I do not want to go there” — and you don’t. You focus your attention on the tools at your disposal to not get sucked in by the frightening whatever. And the thought, getting no attention, floats away. It’s gone.

So you are actually dealing with these scary thoughts by putting them in their right place, which is out there not bothering you. They come in, they go away. They come in, they go away. In, away. In, away.

You can always pay attention to your whatever thoughts whenever you want to. You can feed the beast but you can do it on your time, when you want to. Like in therapy or in creative endeavors or writing. They will never go away completely. But you have in you the power to not have them take over your life. You can shut them down. You can just leave them be.

I used to think that I HAD to give my full attention to my nightmares for a number of reasons. One, what happened to me was my identity. I was a victim and I did not see that by re-traumatizing myself constantly I would have no self-identification. Two, I had to re-injure myself repetitively to know I was alive. Three, to prove that what happened to me did indeed happen. Four, I didn’t know any other way to live. Five, I identified so strongly with my perpetrators that I couldn’t imagine them not in my life. That weird attachment thing is really just gross but there it was for me. Six, it seemed to me that as long as I kept the old shit alive nothing new or more horrific could happen to me. Seven, I was addicted to a crisis life. Eight, I really thought that by keeping an eye on my nightmares I was controlling them.

None of this was true. It’s about living the best, happiest life I can. And that means putting down the weapons. Meditating and doing qi work are the best ways I’ve found to really deal with my nightmares. I have the power to just walk away. And so do you. I hope this makes more sense. Meditation is control.

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Painting my Soul

May 1, 2010 at 1:31 pm (dissociation complex Ptsd trauma child sexual abuse DID psychology survivor)
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Long ago in a land far, far away, I was in my twenties and my PTSD hadn’t put me to a full stop yet. I was a Marketing Consultant, pulling in a ton of cash working for myself and basically living the life of a young affluent city gal. If someone at that time would ask me what I was I’d say I was a painter. It was what I loved, I made money on it…it was just who I was.

Once the PTSD brought my life to a screeching halt in my mid-thirties everything in my life basically stopped. Except my painting. It morphed into angry, screaming drivel yes. But I kept doing it because it was the only thing giving any oxygen to my soul.

I hung onto painting because I was never allowed to express creativity when I was a kid. I was “gifted” in those days before the category was created. I was smart, so smart that I was attending college courses in grammar school. My parents decided to keep me with my regular class and not advance early because I exhibited chronic socialization problems. I didn’t seem able to form bonds with kids teachers anybody. They assumed it was because of my braniacism and not the sexal assaults that my mother consistently denied. So while my sister was able to draw and color and play violin I studied. Bitch. I never even owned crayons.

Anyway, for my 22nd birthday my girlfriend at the time took me to an art supply store and set me up with oils guache brushes the whole nine yards. Trying to think about what to possibly paint the first time she told me that it didn’t matter. That whatever I painted no one else in the world could paint exactly my vision and that was what creativity was all about. I fell in love with it immediately.

Anyway, I’ve had a few fairly successful shows but for the most part my stuff is Impressionist which is not a popular style these days. It doesn’t matter to me if anybody else likes my work as long as I do. And I’ve done very few things I don’t adore.

So I’ve been happily painting along until about this time last year. My therapist at the time was on me to bring something in for her to see. So I brought in this really cool still life that I’d recently finished. She said wow I had no idea how cool your stuff is blah blah can I keep it I was so shocked to get any kind of reaction from her of any kind so said sure. I mean, I can always paint more, right? Right.

The next time I was in her office my painting was leaning against the wall I would stare at, straight ahead of me. It stayed there for nine months, until the day I fired her. For other reasons than this, but it did have an impact on me, this cavalier disregard for my stuff.

Today is the first time I have picked up brush to paint and canvas. It’s like blissing out. I can’t really describe it, I just paint what I see and there it is. My old self-portrait of a hundred individual tiny little slivers all rimmed in black no longer applies. I’ve only just started this one but most of the black borders are gone. There are still alot of us,. 42 I believe, but the lines of delineation between them just aren’t there for the most part. That tells me that what I am feeling internally, that there’s actually communication going on, that the littles are gaining shape and that things are very confusing. The littles are feeling things for the first time and even though I’m not finished with it I can feel them there. I recognize everybody, which is also a great surprise.

So there it is. I get my creativity back. There used to be a single internal, the Painter, who did it. But today it was a thing by committee. Parts that have never known of others’ existence are deciding on color texture and all the decisions you make when you’re painting in oil. The best part of the whole thing is that I gave this back to me. I gave the best part of me back to us. Cool breeze.

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They are me with Gratitude

April 6, 2010 at 5:50 pm (dissociation complex Ptsd trauma child sexual abuse DID psychology survivor)
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So. All my life I have been running. Creating alternative faces as the world demands. There is quite a collection of children teenagers and adults in here. Also memories and emotions tha are independent of personalities.

Central came into therapy. We are so, so sad. Everybody owns their own sadness and it’s new to just about everybody. Seems overwhelming totally so.

Then I heard myself say it’s all me, isn’t it? I mean, I am
Just one person, I know that many older ones do. But that means that ten years of horrendous sexual abuse, rape,, torture, prostitution, all my mother laid on me. It all happened to me. All of it.

And that’s just way too painful. Way too real.

If we hide and flee and freeze and create alters and divide up the abuse into a thousand tiny pieces, then we divvy up the big black cloud of horror. We can stay busy pulling ourselves into an intricate pretzel, hoping nobody ever comes to eat us again.

Unfortunately all of this is a lie. There is really only one of me and it’s a miracle that I am still alive.

But if we stop running and dodging and doing whatever we can to make it all unreal–then that’s what it will be.

Real. God.

I could stop here, feeling overwhelmed until frankly I go out of my mind. But that would based on fear and fear alone. And I am committed to looking at the black places so I can use it. Use it to improve my life.

So. Sit quietly. Close my eyes chant and see what else is there. And it’s pretty amazing stuff. There is this sense of lightness of being, like truth just has an intrinsic anti-gravity force to it. Like an amazing relief. Like tons and tons of rocks came flying off my shoulders.

Personal energy. I cannot feel it at this moment because I am so sick. But I can see it, and I’ll be able to recognize it when it comes. It’s the energy that has previously been taken up by a lifetime of avoidance. I have never before felt how much it has taken to keep the truth away.

Room to change and grow. With all that drag gone I can see that I can fly. Anything good is possible.

It’s incredible. Horrific and great. I know that this is no close to over. I k ow it’s going to get worse before it gets better. But I have a reference today and that for me is huge.

Epiphanies are great and yet they totally suck.

IT’S THE NEXT DAY. I am really feeling how much it has taken out of me to try to keep up the lie that somehow the ahit that was forced on me wasn’t really REAL. Forgetting about it, keeping specific events and the people they happened to separate from one another to keep the big picture impossible to see. Depersonalizing/derealizing to keep all things unaffected by me. Being certain that while I walk and talk and stumble my way around the planet I wasn’t really alive.

Better to be dead than to accept the horrors. I mean, if I had died the first time something was done to me–another reason why none of the rest of I could be real.

I suppose I froze 48 years ago on my first assault. Like a fly trapped in amber. The pine tar was then just the way I reacted to the demands of the world. Inconsequential.

I have become fully aware that I have no sense of timeline in my life. No sense of being young then getting older and older. Because as I have grown new personae were made up to deal with the new stressors. I don’t have a sense of time because there IS no sense of time for me. So what is going thru my mind is that all the horror happened to me at one moment. Infinite density, like The Singularity if you’re into sypermassive black holes. But just as there can BE no such thing as physical infinite density this can’t be the way I worked for me either. My 40-50 odd assaults were events that happened over time. Once I get this part of the weirdness figured out I think I will be more efficient in dealing with my beloved alters one at a time.

Yes that is what I said. My beloved alters. They kept me alive. They kept me from livingy entire life locked up in a nutward somewhere in Northern Maine, safely hidden away. They have lived foe me and learned for me and kept me going. What greater gratitude can one have for such people? It’s endless thankfulness. Endless.

I see all of the freed-up space that is going to be made in my life with the stoppage of the running and hiding and dodging the bullets of a very big hot mess of a mind. I had never considered this before. All things a this moment seem possible for me now.

I know that I will pay out bigtime for this new awareness. It is what I do. It’s jus how the illness works in me. But with each one of these little understandings that hits me over the head like the baseball bat my mother once swung at me, the good stays out a little bit bigger. I could be choosing right now to wallow in an oh my god it is real and it happened to me. I could be choosing to fall apart at the seams again.

But I think I much prefer this gratitude and compassion. It’s like an uncontrolled virus in me that grows with every breath. It lives for me, for all the me’s. More cool though is that it is growing toward everyone and everything I see.

When the times get bad again I will have this to get back to. Fabulous.

Darlene Ouimet is a master of a woman. In her blog Emerging From Broken she talks about transformation and about how it works specifically. I am so, so grateful for her courage in the message she writes. Frankly since I started reading her I haven’t really understood what she has to say about the road to Truth and how great it is to be on the other side. But I get it now.

I get that I can fly.

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Images of What, Freedom?

March 25, 2010 at 4:50 pm (Uncategorized)
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So we have this two-part psychological theory that seems to be working thus far. First, wherever we are we are okay. Good bad depressed panicking fabulous. It’s all okay. The point is to not DO anything when the rough stuff comes up. Which inevitably it will. Just notice the feeling. As T says, this teaches us that feelings come and go. More importantly however we are able to look at them, with less judgement every day. We can see that they will not overtake us or harm us in any way.

Whib gets to the other part of our personal psychology. Use it. Figure out what the emotion means. Where it came from. Where it came from before that. And before that. And before that. If it’s great, figure out why it is and find out how to replicate it. If it’s bad or sad or gut-wrenching we are increasingly able to sit with it. Turn it around and around in our mind, hum where the hell does this come from? Why is it (inevitably) so familiar? To what else does it apply in our life?

Amazing images are coming to us, regardless of how we feel. We’re in a prison, walking down a corridor of cells. We stop in front of the cell that belongs to us. But something here is different. In our cell there are no bars.

No tigers are chasing us. There is only the fruit (see that blog).

We’re walking in the middle of a desert. Big sand dunes, windy…the Sahara kind of a place. We are getting thirsty. We walk up a dune and there’s a huge city with palms and wells and lots and lots of water.

We’re sitting in front of an empty canvas. Staring, the blankness accusing us for being totally non-creative hence worthy (mom). And we pick up our pallet and a brush and we start painting.

There are a hundred of these things roaming around in our head these days. It’s okay to see it. Use it. Take a look, it’s not going to hurt you.

Freedom. It’s pretty freaking great.

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“A-Hah” & Our Poor Therapist

January 22, 2010 at 2:56 pm (dissociation complex Ptsd trauma child sexual abuse DID psychology survivor, Lesbian)
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It’s Fridwy so we must be writing about therapy. Poor, poor T. She had to really work hard to keep up with all the goings-on yesterday afternoon. Alters were flying in and out all ovah the place.

This will in all likelihood seem to be a very disjointed post. Because it’s been a very disjointed time and so. We will try to be clear on the cast of characters without boring you to tears. Hah.

Anyway. What had happened to us was that We had an epiphany that cut to the heart of several of our parts. All in their own unique ways, of course. And, we being who we are, everybody involved wanted to talk all about it.

So, first the epiphany. We were in this humongous rage on Monday when we were there, probably the strongest emotion we’d ever felt consciously to date. T made a suggestion why don’t you try to rip a phone book in two? She was talking about coping skills….sigh, still….and something about this idea just hit home.

What poor T meant was that the whole point of therapy is to experience the emotions that had overwhelmed and fractured us. Not run away not laugh them off. Not shut down and not give in to brutal self-harm. Experience them at the level and in the alters they find themselves (mostly children). And to learn to share hence heal from them.

Why we had never made this connection in 12 years of CBT we do not know. Grr. Anyway.

So. Make a short story long, here’s what happened. Poor, poor T.

Walk in sit down hi it’s me the Weaver. ( Who never starts things off. The Weaver is the one who throws ou our various people, like a weaver throwing color into a moving loom). I have had an ah-hah moment since Monday and alot of people want to talk to you about it. T says really? Ah-hah what? Well the whole idea of this is to go thru the horrible shit that’s in us, to stop running away from it, right? Like Monday? T looks, writes furiously. Tell me more about that. Well, the way to heal from this horrific shite is to actually feel the feelings, experience them emotionally at the places where it was too much, right? Get rid of the Furies and stop running away? T looks like she’s in a moment of glory. Yes, that is what it’s about. Sharing the information and growing everybody up? Yes, exactly. That’s it.

Yep that is what I thought. Okay, so am I just an example of running away? Is that all that we are, this whole fucked up system? Well, no no exactly. You were born to help Terri cope with things for which it’s impossible to cope. You are her saviors, at least that’s how I think of you. Hah well I feel pretty redundant about now…no, not at all. You are still very, very important. Well, alot of them want to talk about this and what it means. T says okay, writes furiously. So I’m going to start with red, I’ll throw her out first. Great

~~~~~~(time passes posture change). Hi! Hi there, am I talking to red? Yup hah did I surprise you? (red is a 5 year old girl, the first to identify herself. She’s been gone for abit). No I heard you were coming. The nanny told me that I’m not bad. The nanny is right you’re not bad. What do you think about that? I did bad things. What bad things did you do? I touched his Thing. Whose Thing? Uncle Norman. Well, did you want to do that? Ick no. Ick. Did you have a choice? I dunno what that means. Well, it means did he make you do it? Uh huh. That’s what I mean, you didn’t have a choice about doing it or not. It’s not your fault there was nothing you could do. But I did a bad thing. Well, do you remember me telling you that it’s not your fault? Uh huh. You are not bad, Uncle Norman is the bad one.

The Big Ones do bad things. They do? What bad things do they do? Uncle Norman things. Well (sigh) are they afraid? No. Are they unhappy? No. Do they want to do them? Yes. Is this sometimes with the other girl who lives there and sometimes just them? Uh huh. Well that is what sex is. It’s a thing that adults get to do if they choose to and if they want to. (confused). I just go away now ( red had had an irritating way of popping in and freaking out at the wrong time). Well, I think that’s a good thing. Do you remember me telling you about adult time and how that is not time for you? Uh huh. Well, that’s what I was talking about. Okay.

There are other little kids. Yes, that’s what I hear. Do you know much about them? Nope only that they’re there. Well, you know alot more about the world than they do, maybe someday you can tell them about it, like how nanny talks to you. (doubtful). Maybe. I gotta go now. Okay I am glad to see you again okay I gotta go.

~~~~~~~~~(posture change). Hi. Hiii, who am I talking to? The new kid. Ah, the one who likes physics? Yeah well I am very happy to see YOU again ( NK had told her abuse story last week, been out abou a month. Horrific. She’s 7 or 8). How are you? Somebody talks to me. Really? Good is her name the nanny? Uh huh. Well good what does she say? I’m not bad. That is very true, you’re not bad but I did very, very bad things. What things did you do I already told you (freak). Well what I heard you say was that your uncle Norman did many very, very bad things TO you. That you did not have a choice. I am so, so bad. What do you think about what I just said, that you’re not bad? Shrug I dunno. I did such bad things. You are not bad because of the ghastly things that were done to you. Your goodness does not depend on what was forced on you. What do you think of that? Shrug (disbelief). I gotta go. Okay. Do you remember me putting you to sleep so you could rest? Uh huh but I can’t find it now. Do you want me to help you find it again? Uh HUH. Okay (counts down from 5, talking and counting down) and One central can come out.

~~~~~~~~Hi. Hi is this central? Yup. Love that thing you do to the new kid she’s never rested before. Good. (central is the main adult who is out the last 15 minutes of every session. She knows some things and not others). So, I hear you had an epiphany? Yes pretty cool. It has had quite the impact. Yes I can tell I’ve talked to red and the one who likes physics. Ah, go well? Yes I think so. They don’t get consent no well no they don’t. Well let’s give them some time to think about it yep

~~~~~~~~~~~~Hi. Hi there, is this still central? Nope, the voice of reason. Oh, hi there how have you been? Good thanks. Thank you for the email telling me that Terri or some others were on the way to Haiti. Yes, stupid idea hah. Well, you see how conflicted you all were about that. Yea, somebody packed sunscreen hah. Whole idea was to be dead before her lily-white ass got fried hah. Idiots. Well you can see the conflicts about it. Is that idea still on the table? No it’s gone good. Yeah, that would have been not so much.

Anyway I wanted to make sure you knew about the epiphany I gave them. Yup I have been hearing about that! Well I have a concern. I am totally willing to go with it but what you saw in her rageout on Monday, that was nothing compared to what’s inside. Well, I am sure that there is alot of horror in there. Yes and I fear that it will be too much to handle one day coping skills or no. Are you sure that there is a way to deal with it? I mean, can we do it? (look, writes furiously) yes absolutely. That is what we are going to do. Together. Here. It’s pretty bad in there….Yes I’m sure it is I’m sure there will be times like the rageout, even much worse. But we can handle it. You’re sure? Yes I am very sure (believes it). Great, well that’s all I wanted to know. So I’m on board. I know that means nothing because I have no influence bu there it is anyway. Well we will have to figure out ways to give you more oomph. I think that’s good but it could just be me talking….okay take it easy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~. Hi. Hi? It’s me again. Central? Yeah what happened dunno. Somebody else popped out, the voice of reason do you know her? Vaguely, she’s totally naive. Funny I don’t think so …. I told the story about getting bit on the clit you know the nerve damage thing, on my blog, and people had these weird reactions. Weird how so tell me more about that. Well, like mad and sad and oh-how-horrible, you know. Appalled. Hah. What do you think about that? (shrug) nothing, really. Hah. Trying to keep a sense of humor about it. I notice that youndo that, that you laugh alot about what was done to you. Yeah well we don’t know what else to do.

LOOK. LOOK. LOOK. SILENCE. LOOK. Because you know it’s not funny. Yeah I know. LOOK LOOK LOOK. It’s not funny at all. People are expressing normal human reactions. Do you know that? (shifts uncomfortably) yeah suppose so. Maybe you should think about your reActions to these normal. Human. Reactions. Yes well time must be up by now? Huh? Jesus I’m tired why am I so tired?

Poor, poor Therapist. Poor, poor T.

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