The Shrink List(s)

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Why I need to see a psychologist

1- Without one, I end up using the few people who remain my friends as a surrogate, much to their dismay. Seriously, they have enough drama. And they don’t even get paid.

2- Even though I’ve identified my problem area -a chronically pessimistic mindset- I still don’t have the stategies to deal with it on my own.

3- I need a constant. Modelling opportunities decrease when school comes back, and friends disappear when it’s time for exams. Family doesn’t qualify as a constant; the mood of the household changes on a daily basis. 

4- I’m lonely as fuck. I need someone to talk to that isn’t a Shadow. Or a feline.

Why I can’t see a psychologist

1- I don’t have enough time to study, model, exercise, lie in bed and stare into space, cry, draw, write AND talk about my problems.

2- Finding a new place is difficult. Must be reasonably close to school/home, and if not, would have to provide taxi/bus vouchers for me to get home before dark. Only government practices would have those, and I imagine those practices only cater to those under eighteen. If I went to one of those, I’d have to go through the same process once again from the fourteenth of September.

3- Finding someone I can communicate with is worse. Cheerful people I can’t take seriously when I’m having a bad day. However, a sense of humour is necessary as well, considering how most of my communication consists of awkward jokes about my cynicism and self depreciation. Being open minded is compulsory, though why you’d choose a career in psychology if you weren’t is beyond me. Being able to discuss philosophy and ideas is an added bonus. And above all, they have to understand the situation with my parents, and what should and shouldn’t be said in front of them. Finding a human with all these qualities on the first go is difficult. And trial and error is very discouraging.

4- Three words: Duty. Of. Care. Granted, this only remains a problem till Monday September 14th 2015, but there’s the dilemma of surviving August, which seems to be a particular time where everything comes crashing down once again.

Just writing and writing and getting stuff out of my system. Have a nice day humans. 

Cat Madigan.

Haven’t signed off in a long time actually.

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Pessimist’s Dilemma

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Today we’re going back to Reality. So shut up and listen.
______________________________________________________________________________

“Were there any problems on the way here?” Lolly asked.

I don’t pretend to misunderstand. “Nah, Mum and I didn’t talk much,” I said.

“Fair enough.” I walked into the office and barely stopped myself from flinching when I saw him in the chair.

“Hello.”

I grimaced at him before sitting down. “We’re not doing this again,” I said under my breath.

“What? I promise I’ll be good, every now and then.”

“So how was work?” Lolly questioned.

“It’s okay…” I said. “I’m not eating though.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah…I’ve just been stressing out about stuff the past week. I think that’s what’s been causing it.”

“How’d you figure that?”

“Well, my anxiety’s been acting up more recently, and that’s when I’ve had trouble eating. It’s probably connected.”

“Do you know how that works? Why people with anxiety start having trouble eating?”

“Actually no. How?”

“You know the ‘flight or fight response’?” Lolly questioned. “Well, when that happens, your body prepares itself to do one of those two. Meaning blood usually goes to the areas responsible for carrying out those actions.”

“Okay…so what?”

“When you’re anxious, your body automatically goes into ‘fight or flight mode’,” she explained. “And when that happens, hunger becomes less of a priority, so your body ignores and even repels that sensation, so that more focus goes into the ‘fight and flight response’.”

“I think I understand now,” I said. “It’s kind of like with exercising, how blood goes to the muscles which do the work. That’s also why your fingers are cold after running.”

“You see? It’s simple when you think about it,” Lolly explained. “Now, you’ve been stressing this past week. Why?”

Yayyy, the fun part. Daniel began making kissing sounds. Shush, you. “I’ve just been worried about work,” I told Lolly. “It’s just been me worrying about what’s going to happen if I screw up.”

“What exactly does ‘screw up’ mean?”

She always makes me explain this stuff. I elaborated. “If I don’t hand in stuff on time, it’s going to have more negative repercussions than if I don’t hand in stuff at school. It’s a magazine, deadlines have to be kept. See?”

“I understand. But that’s not going to happen if you think that that’s not going to happen.”

“Yeah, well, my mind doesn’t work that way.”

“Well, that’s one of the practises of CBT. You learn how to avoid thinking in such a way, and stop you from worrying.”

“I know…I want to think that way, but…”

“It doesn’t come easy, I know. Still.”

“…have you heard of the prisoners dilemma?” I asked Lolly.

“…no. What is it?”

“It’s just a philosophical exercise. Say there’s two prisoners. Apple and Banana.”

“Apple and Banana?” Daniel snorted.

“Roll with it,” I told him aloud. “They’ve committed a crime, and they’re both arrested and put into separate cells. There’s no way they can communicate with each other, so rule out that possibility. Anyway, a detective comes in and talks to both of them separately about their options.

“He says, ‘Listen here, even if neither of you confess, we’ve still got enough evidence to put you both away for two years. You’re going to jail no matter what. But we can make a deal. All we want is a confession, it doesn’t matter who from. If you rat out your partner, you’re only going to have to do one year in jail. Of course, that means that they’re going to have to serve fifteen years time. But if you don’t confess, and he does, then it’s you who is going to be stuck in jail for fifteen years, while he’s out after just one. Now, you’re probably thinking, what if we both confess? Well, I can knock some time off both your sentences for confessing, but you’ll still go to jail for confessing.’ Get all that?”

“…a little bit?” Lolly says weakly.

“I’ll draw a diagram,” I said. I took out some pens and made a little table on the whiteboard.

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“Easier now?”

“Yeah. So what’s that got to do with thinking positively?”

“Which solution would be the most optimistic outcome?”

“…that would be the one where you trust each other. You don’t have to live with the guilt of ratting out your partner, and you can spend two years in jail knowing that at least your trust in him wasn’t misplaced. Unless you’ve got no qualms about ratting out your partner.”

“Nah, you’re right. That’s the best situation, when you can trust eachother enough to stay silent. Now, which is the worst outcome?”

“…I’m starting to see what you’re getting at,” Lolly told me. “You’re saying that if you trust your partner, there’s a chance that they’ll rat you out, and you’ll have to be in jail for fifteen years. And that, for you at least, would be the worst outcome.”

“No, it’s the worst outcome period,” I insisted. “It’s fifteen years in a hellhole, and you’ll spend that time knowing that your partner was the one who sent you there.”

“You’re right. So what point are you trying to make?”

“I’ll adjust the graph a little bit.” I took the pens again and rubbed out a few words and added in new phrases.

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“When you look at the diagram, thinking negatively is a much safer option than thinking positively. Though it would be great to believe that everything is going to go right, when you look at the potential outcomes, it’s not the most rational choice,” I clarified. “Preparing yourself in case the bad luck does come about means that there’s fewer consequences.”

“How so? The bad luck has still happened. The same event has happened. How does already anticipating that it’s going to happen make it better?” Lolly questioned.

“Because you have time to prepare yourself,” I told her. “Things are easier to stand when you’re already anticipating them. In the Prisoners Dilemma, if you assume the worst case scenario, you’re at least going to have less negative repercussions than if you chose to believe in the best case scenario.”

“Do you really think that?”

“Yes,” I confirmed.

“Still, I don’t believe that there’s anything wrong with thinking that the positive could happen.”

“I never said there was,” I said. “The Prisoner’s Dilemma isn’t about looking at just one side of the spectrum; you can assume that there’s an equal chance of something positive and something negative happening. It’s more about preparing yourself for the negative outcomes, not disregarding the chance of something positive coming about.”

“I’m curious about one thing,” Lolly said suddenly. “In the Prisoners Dilemma, you get the least amount of time if you think negatively and the positive happens. Does that relate to real life for you?”

“Yeah, I think so. I reckon good things are even better when you least expect them.”

“As opposed to expecting good things all the time?”

“Of course.”

“So that’s your outlook then,” Lolly fixed her glasses. “What are you really worried about here?”

“Huh?” This was such a change from the philosophical discussion we were just having that I had to rewind for a moment.

“I mean, what is this ‘bad luck’ that you are preparing yourself for?”

“Well, that I don’t hand in assignments on time.”

“Or are you afraid of what will happen if you don’t hand in assignments on time?”

“…yeah. That.”

“And what will happen?”

“…they’ll yell at me. Or fire me….mainly yelling.”

“What do you associate with yelling then?” Lolly questioned. “Why is it hard for you if someone yells?”

“…I don’t-”

“Because it means they’re angry,” Daniel interjected. “And you automatically think that it means that they’re angry with you.” I stared at him. “It’s true. You’re a people pleaser, Miss Madigan, and when people you care about to some degree are upset, you blame yourself.”

I looked up to see Lolly looking at me expectantly. “Sorry, I just blanked out a bit,” I said.

“Daniel’s there, isn’t he?” she said flatly.

“…yeah.”

“What was he saying?”

“…things considering my situation with yelling.”

“…which is?”

“…when people yell at me, it means they’re angry. Which means I’ve fucked up and made them that way,” I admitted. “It’s…completely stupid and I hate myself for it, but yeah. That’s what it feels like for me.”

Daniel smiled at me, and I was relieved to see no malice in his eyes. “Yeah…I learned that eventually. It’s not stupidity Cat. Personally I think it’s more of a habit you’ve developed.”

Doesn’t stop it from being ridiculous.

Lolly agreed with Daniel. “Cat, you’re only seventeen.”

“…yeah.” I cracked a smile. “Yet I’m meant to have my whole career mapped out by now, according to school.”

She laughed. “School is stupid.”

“Yeah. Little bit.”

“Will you be okay for the next two weeks?” she asked. “I mean, if something happens, you know what to do, right?”

“Yeah, we’ve been over this. Get backup and if that fails, call ART.”

“Also, I have something for you to look at,” Lolly added, handing me a document.

We talked for a bit longer before we all headed out to meet my mother. Daniel was quiet on the way home. He never talked in front of my mother. Finally, as we found the safety of my room, he broke his silence. “You lied.”

“…”

“Work isn’t what is worrying you. It’s him, isn’t it?” I looked at Daniel in silence. “You both agreed that you didn’t want to be in a relationship. Not unless you were sure it would work out.” I nodded once. “This, Cat Madigan, is not a good alternative. Especially for you.”

“Yeah, whereas it was perfectly fine with you.”

“I would’ve never hurt you. And you’re a liar if you say you believe otherwise.”

“I don’t expect anything from this,” I told him. “I’m not in the right place for a relationship, and I already know the negative repercussions of what might happen. I can take the risk.”

“You deserve better,” he said staunchly.

“Do you really believe that?”

“I do.”

Cat on Holidays

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Went back to CAMHS today. Saw Lolly, and told her everything.

So my homework for the week is to do something I enjoy every day.

If only school work were that easy.

Well, what do I have this holidays?

Right now, I’m doing sewing classes. As you imaginary readers know, I don’t know how to sew, and yet, I’m taking 1A/B Textiles Design and Technology.

I’m making a dress. It has green flowers all over it and hopefully I’ll be able to actually wear it.

…presuming I’d want to be seen in it once I’m finished.

Today was my second lesson. I’ve learnt and remembered a lot, and so far, I’ve sewn the…watchimacallit to the thingamabob. In Cat Madanese, I’ve sewn the top of the front to the bit where the shoulders are, and I’ve attached that to the back.

Yeah…I’m not going to survive this.

And guess who my incredibly supportive assistant is?

Flashback to this morning…

I was sewing the watchimacallit to the thingamabob, when he walked in front of the window I was facing when I worked. I wish to god I hadn’t looked up…

“I didn’t know you dressed in drag,” was my response.

He was wearing one of the wedding dresses which the teacher had put on display, to show us what you could do in sewing. “Here comes the bride…all fat and wide….” he sang.

I was grateful though. I hadn’t been having a good day, I was too busy worrying about MJ, so I needed a laugh.

Sometimes I wonder if I am a bad influence on my friends….yesterday, I started talking to MJ on Facebook, and he told me that he was getting away from his parents’ house, as they had banned him from going out with friends. Sound familiar nonexistent regulars?

By the way, no, I didn’t finish Cat’s Run Away. You know how it ended, I went home, nothing changed, except my friendship with Flash. End of story. I might tell the rest some day, but only if I’m very bored.

His case was a lot more understanding than mine though. They had banned him from his best friend, because they thought he was gay. Yes, they’re homophobic, and it sucks. Because his best friend, aka my ‘Grandma’, isn’t gay. But MJ is.

Yeah…not good.

Anyway, so that was my day. Now I’m doing something fun. Writing! Then I’ll do a drawing for Pancake’s birthday next week. Then I’ll do fun things for the rest of the holidays.

…Assuming I’m not wallowing in depression/Delirium.

Anyway, time for drawing.

Love Cat Madigan

Faith in People…Status: Depleted.

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Cat Madigan is not happy.

Neither is Daniel.

It’s not every day that you accuse non-existent readers of things, but here goes.

WHO TATTLED ON DANIEL???

Yesterday, I came home feeling a lot happier than I had been in a while. I have no idea why, but I was. Which made things even worse later that evening.

During dinner, a notepad had been left in front of where I was eating. One that my mother often used. And, one word caught my eye. HYPNOTHERAPY.

Now, I have a massive aversion to hypnotherapy. I do not like the idea of someone getting inside my head and tampering with the shit in it. Even in the name of therapy. Yes, my opinion of hypnosis may have been influenced by Alice: Madness Returns, but I hated the idea even before the video game.

I have enough trust issues as it is, and I am not comfortable with the idea of someone having the power to lock things away in my head. Nonononononono.

There was more to the note than that. One sentence made me go into full blown panic mode.

Daniel is a devise.

My mother knew about Daniel.

Or at the very least, knew of someone called Daniel who was probably causing me to need something involving hypnotherapy.

In other words, my Daniel, a figment of my imagination.

So. Who tattled on Daniel?

There’s a number of options. Unfortunately.

I’m going to guess my therapists though. Because on that note was details about someone called Mia, who works at CAMHS. Which is where I’m having with someone I’m calling Lolly.

But the thing is, my therapists remind me just about every session that everything I tell them is confidential. Unless I am of threat to myself or to others, they are not allowed to tell anyone anything. Nothing I say leaves my conversation with Lolly.

So someone has lied.

Someone who obviously thought that it was their place to tell my mother about Daniel. Meaning someone who has contact with my mother, and who I’ve trusted with information about Daniel.

They might even read what I’m writing now.

Funny…the one time I get a reader, and they’re betraying my trust.

If you’re reading this, tattletale, read till the last word.

I had never given anyone permission to tell my mother anything. Especially not about Daniel, or what I see. And whoever you are, you had no right to tell anyone anything, no matter what you had thought. I would’ve never said anything to you if I knew you’d tell my mum.

If my mother tells me to go through with the treatment, beats me, yells at me, or screams at me to force me into it, it’s you who’s to blame.

Therapy in my Madness

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“I don’t like her,” Daniel tells me.

“Oh shut up.”

“Well I don’t.”

“Well, you don’t get a say, she’s my therapist.”

“She called me a cancer!”

“Well you ARE a cancer. In a way.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

We ignored eachother for the rest of the day after that. He’d still pop up, but he wouldn’t talk to me: he’d merely stick his tongue out at me and pretend not to pay attention. He’s a figment of my imagination, yet he expresses emotion more openly than I ever would, well, at least when I’m in my right mind.

That was the therapy session I had last week. And yesterday I had another.

This time, Lee had asked me to write a reflection about how I felt about the session. So now I am on the bus, and I’m writing it now.

The session was about expressing emotion, and how I had difficulty doing this.
Some points that came up were about how I couldn’t really express how I felt at home, and I was not allowed to have an opinion of my own, due to my parent’s philosophy of how children should be seen but not heard.
Lee had pointed out to me that whenever she asked questions about what I thought a parent should be like, or what sort of relationship I’d like with my parents, I would hesitate, and say “I’m not sure.”
Essentially, Lee suggested that I wasn’t getting enough emotional support at home, and that may be the cause of my delusions.

Ok, that’s good enough. But the point of this exercise was to record my emotions about this. That’s the hard part.

It was at this point that Daniel popped in.

“I’m in the middle of therapy homework, go away,” I tell him.

“I want to help,” he says.

“Well, you can’t.”

“Why not? Out of the both of us, I can figure your emotions better than you can.”

“Says who?” I retort.

“Says me.”

“You’re one of my Delusions,” I say. “I shouldn’t be relying on you for support.”

“Then who should you rely on?” He pops his feet up on the seat in front. “As far as I know, your home life isn’t the most emotionally supportive place.”

“There’s my friends. I have them at least, thankyou-” I suddenly recognise the phrase he used. “You were there!” I exclaim.

“Where?”

“At therapy! You were there!”

Daniel laughs. “Well, in my defence, it against my will.”

“How so?”

“When she brought up your emotional immaturity, I simply had to listen,” he answered. He turns to face me. “So, lets begin.”

My head flashes towards him. “Wait, what now?”

“Doctor Daniel is here to talk.”

“What?” I glare at him. “No.”

“It’ll be good for you!”

“No.”

Daniel crossed his arms. “What if I told you I were a doctor?”

“The only doctors I trust are Lee and David Tennant.”

“What about Matt Smith?”

“Lee, David Tennant and Matt Smith.” I think for a moment. “And Chris Eccleston.”

“Good to know.” Daniel moves closer to me. “That doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to help you.”

“What part of fuck off is so difficult for you to understand?” I hiss.

“What part of I’m here to help is so difficult for you to understand?” he answers.

“Forgive me, but I do not need what you call ‘help’,” I tell him angrily. “Now go away.”

For a while he’s silent. He just watches me get more and more frustrated as I try to write down how I’m feeling, with a big smirk on his face. Emotions are irritating. Daniel’s irritating. The fact I have currently have no Internet is irritating.

“And you,” I voice aloud. “Looking over my shoulder while I’m writing is particularly irritating.”

He grins. “Irritating’s my middle name.” He still hasn’t given up. “So now will you let me help?”

I refuse to answer him.

After I get off the bus, leaving Daniel there, or so I thought, I go to Hay Street to get some tea, before making my way to the food court, so I could finish my homework. I’m typing, and there’s a voice behind me.

“When Lee said you had no support at home, how did you react?”

I roll my eyes. “I told you to go away.”

“We’ve been over this before. I don’t listen.

“…”

“Now answer my question.”

“Why should I?”

He groans. “Silly girl, don’t you want to finish your homework?”,

I grimace. “I can’t,” I admit.

“And why not?”

“Because how am I meant to understand how I feel?!” I snap at him. By this time, a lot of people are giving me looks, so I take out my phone and pretend that I’m talking to the person on the other line.

Daniel doesn’t give up. “Ordinary people can.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Point taken,” he concedes. He thinks for a moment. “But, you do know what you think about something, yes?”

“Yes,” I say cautiously. “Where are you going with this?”

“It’s only an observation,” he assures me. “But if you think about what you think, you can surely figure out how you feel.”

“And talking to you will help me figure it out?” I retort bitterly.

He indicates what I’ve currently done. “I don’t see much being done here.”

I groan. Daniel already knows I’ve consented; he’s grinning like an idiot. “You sir, are an ASS,” I tell him.

Daniel merely rolls his eyes. “Go through everything she brought up,” he instructs. “Tell me what you thought about it, and then how you feel about what you thought.”

We start talking about my family’s ‘lack of emotional stability’.

“She’s right, you know,” he tells me. “How much can you tell your family?”

“Next to nothing,” I confirm. “But how much could you confide in your parents?”

He grinned. “Same as you. Less actually; I haven’t seen them in years.”

“Are they dead?” I ask.

He shrugs, as if his parents were as insignificant as the weather. “Maybe, maybe not,” he says lightly. “So why can’t you talk to them?”

I think. And then I grimace. “Every time I try to, they don’t listen,” I tell him. “And if they do, they’d later use it against me.”

Daniel frowns, confused. “How so?”

“If they knew the full extent of what was going on with,” I tap my temple to indicate my growing insanity. “They’d keep me locked up, or at least in a similar situation. I wouldn’t be allowed to go out anywhere, or do anything. I’d be the insane girl, locked up in an asylum created by them.”

“I see. And how does this make you feel?” Daniel adopts a calm, stereotypical psychiatrist-like falsetto.

I roll my eyes. “Angry, I suppose,” I tell him. “But…also hopelessness.” At Daniel’s look of confusion, I explain. “They’re never going to change. And I can’t make them change. I will never be able to rely on them.”

“Next question,” Daniel says. “How much do you love your parents?”

I remember Lee asking this question. “I thought a lot about that,” I recall. “I was confused for a while…”

“And now?”

“…still confused, but I know what I think.”

“That’s what we’re aiming for,” says Daniel. “What about your father, how much do you love him?”

“…I told Kim I love him for he is my father,” I say slowly. “I’ve had a better think about it now though.”

“And?”

I take a deep breathe. “My father is a pain in the ass,” I say. “But he understands me. We think alike, we react logically to situations. And we’re both interested in history, how people behave.” I look up at Daniel. “I can love him for those reasons. He understands me, and I like to think that I can rely on him for some support, which is more than I can say for my mother.”

“And what of her?”

“…”

“Answer the question.”

“…I cannot tell my mother anything without her using it against me,” I admit. “She criticises me on a daily basis, and that’s the least of it. She refuses to listen to my arguments; her word is gospel. Our outlooks…they’re far too different. And like I said, she won’t change.” I shake my head. “But she’s my mother. And therefore, I cannot not love her.”

Daniel frowns for a moment. “Your therapist asked you if you had met your mother by chance, on the street, and she was only a complete stranger, would you still want to know her? You had no answer then, but now that you’ve thought about it…”

“Let me think on it.” I’m typing up everything on the reflection thus far, and by the time I’ve done, I have my answer. “My mother is good fifty percent of the time,” I say. “But the rest of the time, I find myself wanting someone else. One who would love me without judging me.” I inhale, and for the first time today, I know how I feel immediately. I feel dread. “If my mother was a stranger, I wouldn’t want to know her,” I whisper. “Not as a friend anyway. I wouldn’t trust her not to turn on me.”

Daniel’s arm goes around me. “It’s like a coin flip,” he says to me. “There’s half of them that’s good, and makes you feel horrible at the thought of hurting them. And on the other side of the coin, they make you feel pain, and you want nothing more than to just get away.”

For a moment, I’m just looking at Daniel’s face. His eyes look green at the moment, the same colour as my blazer. Sometimes they look gold, like an autumn leaf, or grey like a cloud. Sometimes they even look blue, though when you focus, it turns out it’s only a different shade of green, a trick constructed by all that surrounds him.

They’re my eyes. My eyes match neither my mother’s or my father’s, they’re uniquely mine. And I see myself when I see Daniel, and our matching eyes. But he says everything I can’t, loud and clear. He’s arrogant, he often torments me, but then he turns around and saves me when I need it most.

Can you get to a point where you actually care for someone who’s a figment of your imagination?

I take that moment to run, and for whatever reason he has, he doesn’t follow, this strange delusion of mine.
________________________________________________________________________________

Another Daily Prompt Challenge. I read this after I had my appointment with Lee, and I decided to write this up.

We had talked about things like how I believed a mother should act toward her child, and I found myself making contrasts between my mother and how I would be toward my child. The more I think, the less I have in common with my parents, and sometimes I worry what would happen if I distanced myself from them all together.

To see the newest dpChallenge, check the link below.
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/09/16/writing-challenge-dialogue/

And Internet is finally back, thank god.

Mad Cat.

Therapy in my Madness

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“I don’t like her,” Daniel tells me.

“Oh shut up.”

“Well I don’t.”

“Well, you don’t get a say, she’s my therapist.”

“She called me a cancer!”

“Well you ARE a cancer. In a way.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

We ignored eachother for the rest of the day after that. He’d still pop up, but he wouldn’t talk to me: he’d merely stick his tongue out at me and pretend not to pay attention. He’s a figment of my imagination, yet he expresses emotion more openly than I ever would, well, at least when I’m in my right mind.

That was the therapy session I had last week. And yesterday I had another.

This time, Lee had asked me to write a reflection about how I felt about the session. So now I am on the bus, and I’m writing it now.

The session was about expressing emotion, and how I had difficulty doing this.
Some points that came up were about how I couldn’t really express how I felt at home, and I was not allowed to have an opinion of my own, due to my parent’s philosophy of how children should be seen but not heard.
Lee had pointed out to me that whenever she asked questions about what I thought a parent should be like, or what sort of relationship I’d like with my parents, I would hesitate, and say “I’m not sure.”
Essentially, Lee suggested that I wasn’t getting enough emotional support at home, and that may be the cause of my delusions.

Ok, that’s good enough. But the point of this exercise was to record my emotions about this. That’s the hard part.

It was at this point that Daniel popped in.

“I’m in the middle of therapy homework, go away,” I tell him.

“I want to help,” he says.

“Well, you can’t.”

“Why not? Out of the both of us, I can figure your emotions better than you can.”

“Says who?” I retort.

“Says me.”

“You’re one of my Delusions,” I say. “I shouldn’t be relying on you for support.”

“Then who should you rely on?” He pops his feet up on the seat in front. “As far as I know, your home life isn’t the most emotionally supportive place.”

“There’s my friends. I have them at least, thankyou-” I suddenly recognise the phrase he used. “You were there!” I exclaim.

“Where?”

“At therapy! You were there!”

Daniel laughs. “Well, in my defence, it against my will.”

“How so?”

“When she brought up your emotional immaturity, I simply had to listen,” he answered. He turns to face me. “So, lets begin.”

My head flashes towards him. “Wait, what now?”

“Doctor Daniel is here to talk.”

“What?” I glare at him. “No.”

“It’ll be good for you!”

“No.”

Daniel crossed his arms. “What if I told you I were a doctor?”

“The only doctors I trust are Lee and David Tennant.”

“What about Matt Smith

“Lee, David Tennant and Matt Smith.” I think for a moment. “And Chris Eccleston.”

“Good to know.” Daniel moves closer to me. “That doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to help you.”

“What part of fuck off is so difficult for you to understand?” I hiss.

“What part of I’m here to help is so difficult for you to understand?” he answers.

“Forgive me, but I do not need what you call ‘help’,” I tell him angrily. “Now go away.”

For a while he’s silent. He just watches me get more and more frustrated as I try to write down how I’m feeling, with a big smirk on his face. Emotions are irritating. Daniel’s irritating. The fact I have currently have no Internet is irritating.

“And you,” I voice aloud. “Looking over my shoulder while I’m writing is particularly irritating.”

He grins. “Irritating’s my middle name.” He still hasn’t given up. “So now will you let me help?”

I refuse to answer him.

After I get off the bus, leaving Daniel there, or so I thought, I go to Hay Street to get some tea, before making my way to the food court, so I could finish my homework. I’m typing, and there’s a voice behind me.

“When Lee said you had no support at home, how did you react?”

I roll my eyes. “I told you to go away.”

“We’ve been over this before. I don’t listen.

“…”

“Now answer my question.”

“Why should I?”

He groans. “Silly girl, don’t you want to finish your homework?”,

I grimace. “I can’t,” I admit.

“And why not?”

“Because how am I meant to understand how I feel?!” I snap at him. By this time, a lot of people are giving me looks, so I take out my phone and pretend that I’m talking to the person on the other line.

Daniel doesn’t give up. “Ordinary people can.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Point taken,” he concedes. He thinks for a moment. “But, you do know what you think about something, yes?”

“Yes,” I say cautiously. “Where are you going with this?”

“It’s only an observation,” he assures me. “But if you think about what you think, you can surely figure out how you feel.”

“And talking to you will help me figure it out?” I retort bitterly.

He indicates what I’ve currently done. “I don’t see much being done here.”

I groan. Daniel already knows I’ve consented; he’s grinning like an idiot. “You sir, are an ASS,” I tell him.

Daniel merely rolls his eyes. “Go through everything she brought up,” he instructs. “Tell me what you thought about it, and then how you feel about what you thought.”

We start talking about my family’s ‘lack of emotional stability’.

“She’s right, you know,” he tells me. “How much can you tell your family?”

“Next to nothing,” I confirm. “But how much could you confide in your parents?”

He grinned. “Same as you. Less actually; I haven’t seen them in years.”

“Are they dead?” I ask.

He shrugs, as if his parents were as insignificant as the weather. “Maybe, maybe not,” he says lightly. “So why can’t you talk to them?”

I think. And then I grimace. “Every time I try to, they don’t listen,” I tell him. “And if they do, they’d later use it against me.”

Daniel frowns, confused. “How so?”

“If they knew the full extent of what was going on with,” I tap my temple to indicate my growing insanity. “They’d keep me locked up, or at least in a similar situation. I wouldn’t be allowed to go out anywhere, or do anything. I’d be the insane girl, locked up in an asylum created by them.”

“I see. And how does this make you feel?” Daniel adopts a calm, stereotypical psychiatrist-like falsetto.

I roll my eyes. “Angry, I suppose,” I tell him. “But…also hopelessness.” At Daniel’s look of confusion, I explain. “They’re never going to change. And I can’t make them change. I will never be able to rely on them.”

“Next question,” Daniel says. “How much do you love your parents?”

I remember Lee asking this question. “I thought a lot about that,” I recall. “I was confused for a while…”

“And now?”

“…still confused, but I know what I think.”

“That’s what we’re aiming for,” says Daniel. “What about your father, how much do you love him?”

“…I told Kim I love him for he is my father,” I say slowly. “I’ve had a better think about it now though.”

“And?”

I take a deep breath. “My father is a pain in the ass,” I say. “But he understands me. We think alike, we react logically to situations. And we’re both interested in history, how people behave.” I look up at Daniel. “I can love him for those reasons. He understands me, and I like to think that I can rely on him for some support, which is more than I can say for my mother.”

“And what of her?”

“…”

“Answer the question.”

“…I cannot tell my mother anything without her using it against me,” I admit. “She criticises me on a daily basis, and that’s the least of it. She refuses to listen to my arguments; her word is gospel. Our outlooks…they’re far too different. And like I said, she won’t change.” I shake my head. “But she’s my mother. And therefore, I cannot not love her.”

Daniel frowns for a moment. “Your therapist asked you if you had met your mother by chance, on the street, and she was only a complete stranger, would you still want to know her? You had no answer then, but now that you’ve thought about it…”

“Let me think on it.” I’m typing up everything on the reflection thus far, and by the time I’ve done, I have my answer. “My mother is good fifty percent of the time,” I say. “But the rest of the time, I find myself wanting someone else. One who would love me without judging me.” I inhale, and for the first time today, I know how I feel immediately. I feel dread. “If my mother was a stranger, I wouldn’t want to know her,” I whisper. “Not as a friend anyway. I wouldn’t trust her not to turn on me.”

Daniel’s arm goes around me. “It’s like a coin flip,” he says to me. “There’s half of them that’s good, and makes you feel horrible at the thought of hurting them. And on the other side of the coin, they make you feel pain, and you want nothing more than to just get away.”

For a moment, I’m just looking at Daniel’s face. His eyes look green at the moment, the same colour as my blazer. Sometimes they look gold, like an autumn leaf, or grey like a cloud. Sometimes they even look blue, though when you focus, it turns out it’s only a different shade of green, a trick constructed by all that surrounds him.

They’re my eyes. My eyes match neither my mother’s or my father’s, they’re uniquely mine. And I see myself when I see Daniel, and our matching eyes. But he says everything I can’t, loud and clear. He’s arrogant, he often torments me, but then he turns around and saves me when I need it most.

Can you get to a point where you actually care for someone who’s a figment of your imagination?

I take that moment to run, and for whatever reason he has, he doesn’t follow, this strange delusion of mine.
________________________________________________________________________________

Another Daily Prompt Challenge. I read this after I had my appointment with Lee, and I decided to write this up.

We had talked about things like how I believed a mother should act toward her child, and I found myself making contrasts between my mother and how I would be toward my child. The more I think, the less I have in common with my parents, and sometimes I worry what would happen if I distanced myself from them all together.

To see the newest dpChallenge, check the link below.
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/09/16/writing-challenge-dialogue/

And Internet is finally back, thank god.

Mad Cat.