Thankfully I didn't send this
Posted: January 22nd, 2015, 11:42 pm
I stayed up half the night composing an email to my therapist. . . it can't be normal to think so much about him and be so paranoid about our "therapeutic relationship". I'm feeling like a total fucking crazy asshole. Like if anybody knew how batshit I actually am no one would want to be around me. Everybody thinks of me as a cheerful, happy, do anything for anyone kind of person. I'm a nurse, and act bubbly and sweet and no one would even suspect depression, let alone the other mental health problems I deal with. I have my work self, which is my favorite aspect of me, and the others, which pretty much suck. 'm the only one that really knows me and I am fucking sick of myself. I feel like my therapist is disgusted by me, though I am sure he has given me no real reason to feel this way. Is this common? Anyway, I felt like I had to send the email somewhere, so here it is.
I am sorry I am sending you an email. I know it's not right, I just don't know what to do. I am frustrated with myself because I can't seem to talk about what is really on my mind . . . so I am left trying to come up with other things to talk about, and even if I can avoid the silence, I leave feeling like a failure. When I left last Tuesday, I was in tears by the time I got to my car. I just kept thinking about how stupid I am. Over and over, I hear it. I hit myself in the head and on my legs. I have so much anger towards myself. I feel like I am screwing everything up. I am afraid that you are done with me. If you give up on me. . . if you don't like me, then it proves there is something wrong with me. I am sure you don't give up on people easily. I am afraid I am making things too difficult for you. I am requiring too much patience. You think I am lazy, or I don't want to get better. Is it narcissism to think I even matter enough to get on your nerves? You've told me I was not a narcissist before, but now you know me better and maybe you have changed your mind. All night I have been worried about it. I know you would tell me the truth about it, right? It seems pretty narcissistic to send all this nonsense to you, taking your time, when I know I should wait and bring it up in therapy. Maybe you sit with me and when it's done it's done, and you don't think another thought about me. I imagine as you read this you're probably thinking, if she only knew how little I thought of her at all. I feel like I disgust you and the more I talk, the more you know, the more disgusted you will feel towards me. I tell myself they're just thoughts, I don't have to believe them. But what if they are true? What a fool I would be to sit in your office and cry and feel pain and bare my soul, and all the while you are sickened by the very sight of me. Part of me knows you mean me no harm. You've stuck with me this long, you've been so helpful to me. I feel grateful that I landed in your office, and I feel like it's a safe place. I don't think you hate anyone, and I'm sure you don't judge me. I know I could tell you anything, and you will help me figure it out. But sometimes the bad thoughts are louder. . . "He hates you. He is disgusted by your presence. You're so fat and ugly he can't stand to look at you. He wishes he was rid of you. You're just a whining, complaining, lazy person who doesn't want to work hard and get better. All you do is sit there and take up space. He doesn't have the time to deal with people like you. He helps people that deserve help. You don't deserve anything." Even if someone's house is spotless, with not a speck of dust, if someone sees behind the closed doors, even for just a second, they will know the house is infested with rats and roaches and trash. They wouldn't come back. The house is infested. The house is too far gone. It really needs to be torn down before it starts affecting the other houses around it. Bedbugs or roaches might get on you. The stench might make you physically ill. Nobody else should have to be exposed to that amount of filth.
I am sorry I am sending you an email. I know it's not right, I just don't know what to do. I am frustrated with myself because I can't seem to talk about what is really on my mind . . . so I am left trying to come up with other things to talk about, and even if I can avoid the silence, I leave feeling like a failure. When I left last Tuesday, I was in tears by the time I got to my car. I just kept thinking about how stupid I am. Over and over, I hear it. I hit myself in the head and on my legs. I have so much anger towards myself. I feel like I am screwing everything up. I am afraid that you are done with me. If you give up on me. . . if you don't like me, then it proves there is something wrong with me. I am sure you don't give up on people easily. I am afraid I am making things too difficult for you. I am requiring too much patience. You think I am lazy, or I don't want to get better. Is it narcissism to think I even matter enough to get on your nerves? You've told me I was not a narcissist before, but now you know me better and maybe you have changed your mind. All night I have been worried about it. I know you would tell me the truth about it, right? It seems pretty narcissistic to send all this nonsense to you, taking your time, when I know I should wait and bring it up in therapy. Maybe you sit with me and when it's done it's done, and you don't think another thought about me. I imagine as you read this you're probably thinking, if she only knew how little I thought of her at all. I feel like I disgust you and the more I talk, the more you know, the more disgusted you will feel towards me. I tell myself they're just thoughts, I don't have to believe them. But what if they are true? What a fool I would be to sit in your office and cry and feel pain and bare my soul, and all the while you are sickened by the very sight of me. Part of me knows you mean me no harm. You've stuck with me this long, you've been so helpful to me. I feel grateful that I landed in your office, and I feel like it's a safe place. I don't think you hate anyone, and I'm sure you don't judge me. I know I could tell you anything, and you will help me figure it out. But sometimes the bad thoughts are louder. . . "He hates you. He is disgusted by your presence. You're so fat and ugly he can't stand to look at you. He wishes he was rid of you. You're just a whining, complaining, lazy person who doesn't want to work hard and get better. All you do is sit there and take up space. He doesn't have the time to deal with people like you. He helps people that deserve help. You don't deserve anything." Even if someone's house is spotless, with not a speck of dust, if someone sees behind the closed doors, even for just a second, they will know the house is infested with rats and roaches and trash. They wouldn't come back. The house is infested. The house is too far gone. It really needs to be torn down before it starts affecting the other houses around it. Bedbugs or roaches might get on you. The stench might make you physically ill. Nobody else should have to be exposed to that amount of filth.