I have homework from the new therapist. Did I mention that I’m seeing a new therapist? Yeah. He’s much closer to my home, 5 minutes vs. 2 hours.
Here’s a positive sign: I haven’t had a panic attack during any of my sessions. I’m attributing that to the fact that my compass works better and that this guy is safe. In other words, I don’t think our relationship is based on a lie. I don’t think he’s using me or has a hidden agenda. He seems to understand. He seems safe, and he doesn’t seem to be shocked or disgusted by the idea that a female can be sexually compulsive. He can use the word masturbation in a sentence comfortably.
What else? Oh, yeah. When I told him I’d acted out, he asked me straight out what I’d done. Yeah. That’s scary and comforting at the same time. I didn’t tell him (yet) but it sure as hell sets the tone right at rigorously, unvarnished-ly honest. So, right. Scary. Comforting.
The next visit, I shared that while I’d stayed sexually sober, I drank. I’m not an alcoholic, but it doesn’t take a genius to detect some substitution going on. So what does this fucker ask me? When did I drink, what did i drink, how much did I drink. And here’s the kicker, “So are you hung over now?”
I honestly did not expect him to be this good.
Scary. Comforting. And (right on schedule) I’m feeling pretty fucking angry.
He gave me homework. I’m probably not going to do it. A fucking worksheet where I can list undesirable acting out behaviors along with possible substitutions. Gag me with a fucking spoon.
And can I just say that having one therapist who is sexual with you makes it difficult to trust.
Maybe I subconsciously engineered this whole mini relapse just to give myself the opportunity to learn to trust again.
Fucking psychobabble nonsense! Did I mention about feeling angry?
Do we ever grow up?
The picture is from the relapse prevention box I made in treatment. These are the affirmations I had to say, standing on a chair, before every meal, in front of the entire dining room.
No shit. I did that. It helped. I don’t believe in god anymore, but it still helps. It brings me back to a safe, supportive environment where I got better.
That’s a big claim, isn’t it? I got better.
And I feel a little less angry now. Tomorrow I may decide differently, this morning I did decide differently, but now I’m going to shower and go to work instead of spending the morning with sex and porn; instead of drinking (although the liquor is REALLY calling me).