Therapy is a huge pain in my ass

I miss my sessions with Denise, my last therapist. She’d let me skate around things and then the week after I would bring up how I had felt and .. you see where this is going, unhelpful. I miss her but she was right, it wasn’t helping. She cared too much about me for me to ever be 100 percent honest, an annoying thing I have (and lots of people have I’m sure).

My third session with Jane (not her real name) for body dysmorphic disorder treatment is this week.

I think sessions one and two were more about setup and expectations. Session two had some more things in it, like making pros and cons lists for healing versus keeping BDD. Unfortunately the pros of having BDD outweighed everything else.

She also asked me if I had the self-awareness to reason that I am not body dysmorphic disorder and I really don’t know. Maybe I used to but not anymore.

I feel very uncomfortable with everything but I do recognize that I am so much worse than I was two years ago. It’s the extreme social anxiety, the exhaustion even having conversations sometimes with people I’m friends with, and distrust in compliments.

Our of the common body image cognitive distortions provided by Dr. Thomas Cash, I have all six but they aren’t always all there, sometimes they rotate.

Also I have a hard time distinguishing what is from borderline personality disorder and what is its own mental illness. What the fuck?

This isn’t the most eloquent post but I wanted to record my feelings, even in this hasty manner, so I can look back later and reflect.

 

Look at me.

I read a creepy story within the last few years (supposedly true) about a kid who is home alone while his parents go out. One thing leads to another and there’s an intruder and later they find the intruder had watched the kid the¬†entire time and the kid hadn’t heard. Intruder had written “Look at me, look at me, look at me” on the wall in scratches.

That little mantra has been in my head this week. “Look at me. Look at me. Look at me.”

My compulsions have went from constant checking of my face to complete avoidance. My first therapy appointment was Thursday and she gave me exercises to do. She called this “mirror work” which is terrifying to me just in its name.

Whenever I find myself forcefully avoiding my reflection, I have my little creepy mantra in my head, look at me.