On Tuesday, I had my appointment with the psychologist. This lady is brilliant, she and Nurse Awesome have actually spoken about my treatment TOGETHER, whilst being IN THE SAME ROOM as each other. This gives me a lot more hope than usual, as I’m used to one professional doing their own thing, and the others being completely clueless because they’ve not been told anything. The only reason for this second appointment was because I had so much to say in our first meeting (my life story doesn’t come abridged, no matter how much I try to condense it) that we had to meet again.
We’d spoken about the usual stuff before, so I started this appointment by telling her that I had a job. This lead to me talking more about how my last job under a sociopath sex pest nearly put me off working for the rest of my life, before doing something I’d never done in a professional setting. I spoke about MFP.
I don’t really talk about him much on here, aside from brief mentions. I have countless journal entries and draft book entries dedicated to the relationship we had – or realistically, the lack there-of. There was a lot of passion, and seemingly a lot of love between us. I still have to tear the rose-tinted glasses off my face when I think back, because where I see romance, there was actually nothing of the sort there. Just two individuals dealing with their fair share of troubles who desperately yearned for affection and safety. My time with MFP… it left me with scars. Physical and emotional, and as much as I try to write it off as ‘just a rough time’ it was more than that. I spent six months in limbo, drinking away the sadness and loneliness that came as part of us. I self-harmed, I slept too much or not enough, the only thing stopping me from ending it all was the fact he told me clearly that if I took my life then he would follow. Strong words from someone who, in the end, left me when I needed him most.
We don’t speak anymore. And we’ve never really spoken about what happened between us. There was no closure, we just drifted our own ways. I try to shake it off as just another bad relationship, but the truth is – the whole thing left me very damaged. It was another traumatic event in a chain of events that lead to my BPD finally coming to the surface, along with losing my mom, home, two jobs and several friends. Does MFP know any of this? I don’t know. I don’t want to know. It’s better that way.
Psychologist said that MFP was wrong for what he did. She also said that a lot of my behaviour with him, along with my sociopath manager, comes from what I’ve learned through destructive relationships and traumatic events. And it’s incorrect behaviour basically. I see abuse and I confuse it with love. When I receive authentic love and affection, it frightens me and I will try to sabotage it before it can hurt me. Classic borderline upside-downness when it comes to emotions and feelings.
The good news with all this is that it gives us something to work with as my therapy commences at the start of November. I’m lucky enough to be under the care of a trainee psychologist along with my usual psychologist and Nurse Awesome too. There’s going to be a lot of work in recognising incorrect behaviours and changing them, as well as using the scary red flags I get with people and situations as a tool for good. Like using a shark as a battering ram, or something. Once we’re working on the practical stuff, we’ll be able to go into my more painful (and possibly some repressed) memories to process and use them for good. Like a shark counsellor.
I feel positive. Maybe one day I’ll be able to say that all the shit I’ve been through has given me the strength to live my life better than I could’ve done had I gone it alone.
Like a shark with advanced weapons training, and the ability to wield swords.