10-18-06 @ 6:20 am EDT

Well, there isn't really much to write about from yesterday, which I guess is the best. :/ Most of the session was spent with Psychologist questioning me about going to visit my brother and how that made me feel, and if I would like to travel and see things, etc. She seems a lot more terribly enthused than I am. Probably because it gave her something to talk about.

I'd typed up about high school and my OCD and she browsed the former. Did I feel anything in particular when typing up the high school memories? No. That was partly a lie though. I remember feeling, "What the hell is the point of this??" But anyway. "It looks like you had a few friends back then, so that was good," she said. Um, yeah. Never mind that out of the four friends listed: 1. called me a crybaby in front of the whole class and mocked my shyness because I took issue with her swearing; 2. said he'd call me back and I didn't hear from him for six months, and the next time I saw him he pretended I didn't exist; and 3. wrote to get back in touch with me, then when I sent a long chatty reply, said she didn't have time to write, sorry. Yeah, that was SO good for me. Out of the four, only one, Dianne, didn't end up hurting me or pissing me off, and I still have yet to see how all that goes with her. So while it might have been good for me to have friends in high school, IMO, in the long run, 3/4 of those "friendships" just made me feel even shittier about myself.

"I see that your first year of high school, you were known as 'Eric's sister,'" Psychologist said. "I take it your brother was pretty well known?" Nod. "How did you feel about that?"

"Jealous," I said. I didn't mention how I still feel jealous. Didn't see the point of it.

"Do you still have these 'Damien' novels you mentioned?" she asked, and I nodded. "Have you done anything with them?" No. "Do you ever think about submitting anything for publication?"

"I'm not good enough," I had to mumble twice because she didn't hear me.

"How do you know?"

"People don't like to read it."

"Well, maybe they would if it was published?"

Don't know, who cares. I don't believe it.

"What would you say of your high school experience overall?"

Shrug. It was high school; what else?

"So...I suppose that the next thing would be to write about what happened after high school," she started to say, at which I interrupted before she could get very far.

"There isn't really anything after that."

"You went to college? How many classes did you take?"

"I don't know."

"Do you have a degree?"

Nod.

"So you took two years of classes?" Nod. "Do you think you could write about that?"

I just KNEW she was going to ask me to do this, and I'm rather fed up with it, so I said, "Nothing really happened; I just took classes." I mean, seriously--I WENT TO SCHOOL. THAT'S ALL. The ONLY thing even vaguely resembling "friendship" that I had in two years of college was sharing a few classes with Dianne. That is IT. There is NOTHING else that stands out relationshipwise. I went to class, did the work, went home. I did not socialize, did not do anything other than classwork. Hence there is NOTHING to write about and I'm just plain tired of typing up stupid memories about how lonely I was in school, especially when by college it was pretty obvious that my social life had completely died. Is she happy now?? I don't mean to sound so pissy but I'm so exasperated by this. She's looking for things that just are not there. If she can't think of anything to talk about, why doesn't she kick me out of therapy or send me to somebody else? God knows plenty of other people have.

*deepbreath*

So...I pretty much made it clear that no, I didn't want to write about college or anything after because there simply IS nothing after. I can't even REMEMBER 1997-2000 by now. It's just a big blank. I know I must have ridden my bike down the road some before getting too embarrassed to do even that...must have written some stuff...must have played computer games now and then...but other than that, there's nothing. I've said from the very start that I've pretty much been housebound since 1997, and it's true. There's nothing to write about.

So, now she has no more memories of mine to plumb. What will she do? She must be frustrated on that front at least. She said she would read over my OCD things later. I take that to mean that she probably won't. I can't be sure, but I've grown cynical. She's been saying she'll do a lot of things that she never seems to have followed through on ever since therapy started, so you can't blame me for being cynical.

She said she had a friend who was a writing teacher or something and she might show her my work, remember?

She said she was interested in reading my story, that went nowhere pretty fast.

She said she was interested in reading my journal, but it's pretty clear all she was able to do was browse a bit of it in the current session--she never did comment at all on my entire Mackinac Island trip.

She brought up art therapy, that lasted all of two drawings.

There have been various other things she's started to discuss, then those quickly went nowhere as well.

I'll say it right here: When she FIRST started questioning me about my writing...that was the way to go. That was what made me want to really start opening up. I couldn't, and I'm glad I didn't, seeing what's happened since. But if she had been PERSISTENT, AND if she had followed through on this "interest" she said she had, maybe I would have started sharing more. And opening up more and talking a bit more. But she let that door swing shut pretty fast, and once it's shut I see little point in opening it again. Once I get the faintest impression that somebody is not really interested or is too busy, I clam up completely. And effort after effort she's made, I feel even less like bothering because she just reminds me of all the people before her who said they were interested and would listen and bla bla, it's obvious she hasn't the time or interest that I really wanted from somebody. I know, she's a psychologist and is overworked, but SHE'S the one who's been saying from day one that session time is for ME. And she's the one who cut my session times in half anyway...

She asked me what I would like my future to be like, if it could be anything at all? I started crying here. I hate thinking about the future (she asked this and I nodded), and I don't see the point in it. I said that I simply don't want to be around then. She said she'd like me to write about what I'd like my future to be if it could be anything--"Dream a little." But I don't dream about my future anymore because it's stupid to dream about things that are utterly pointless. "You can write it in the form of a story if that helps," she said, but no, it doesn't.

"I can't write about myself like that," I said. And it's true. I took myself out of my fiction years ago, and I'm never going back.

"You do it well enough in your journal entries," she persisted.

"Those aren't fiction."

She seemed to miss my point there. Did I think I could write about this? I didn't want to give a promise that I can't keep so I said I didn't know. Oh, I can write about what I'd like my future to be like--it just won't be what she wanted. I've been going over in my head what I dream of my future being, best case scenario, and it's along these lines:

I hope that I die young so I don't have to worry about so many things and about being a burden on others. I'd like my ashes to be scattered on Mackinac Island.

I hope my pine tree keeps growing and somebody enjoys its shade or presence someday.

I'd like to hope that maybe someday, long after my death, somebody comes across my writings and/or photographs and finds some use or pleasure in them, however small, even if they are never published or are seen by just one person. It would be nice if they were collected or archived by some small museum or website, but I don't count on it. The greatest I could hope is that at least one person enjoys them long after I'm gone.

To dream of bigger nicer things especially during my own lifetime is useless, because I do not like to dream about impossible things, and for them to be possible my entire life would have had to be different.

That's the greatest wish I'm capable of anymore. That I don't burden people for much longer, and that all the hundreds of thousands of words I've written, and the hundreds of photos I've taken, might be of use to at least one person rather than sit gathering dust or rotting away long after I'm no longer around to see if anyone enjoys them. Sorry it sounds pathetic, but I don't believe in dreaming for things that I'm too chicken to make come true. It's idiotic to do so, or to think about the way things might have been "if only." I used to dream big, and all I ever was was disappointed. I was simply born too afraid to do the one thing I would have really liked to do for a living. You have to have self-confidence to be a real writer, and that's one thing I don't have. *shrug*

So I'm sure she's going to be rather disappointed that that's my greatest dream for my future, to not even be around long enough to see what becomes of my writing. I doubt it'll even be enjoyed by anybody after my death, there's nobody around here but my parents. It'll probably get tossed out sometime. At least I'll hopefully not be around to get upset.

So the session ended with me crying and unable to promise that I'll write anything about "big dreams" for my future, though I guess I'll just print out what I typed above in bold. That's honestly all I've got left in terms of dreams. Most realistic wish, to be dead before I can suffer much more disappointment in life.

It's becoming a serious concern to me about what's to happen when these sessions are ended. The half-year mark is coming up soon. I don't want to STOP therapy--but continuing therapy, at least with this psychologist, is getting absolutely nowhere. But I don't know if trying out a different one, even if it is an option, would help either. What if she would end up the exact same as the first one? This is free therapy, it's not like I have a whole lot of choices.

So I have no clue what's to happen once the last session comes. Are they going to end my therapy completely, and I stop seeing the psychiatrist, get taken off my meds, and sent home to go back to the way I was before? Not that I've exactly changed much, but this makes me angry and upset, that all of this crap was completely for nothing. I haven't even gotten approved for disability yet--if I even will. Six months of sitting and crying in a psychologist's office for this? I could have done the exact same thing in the privacy of my own home--in fact, I did.

She asked before I left if there was anything I wanted to talk about or felt we should talk about and I shook my head. I'm seriously concerned about what's going to happen after all this, but I couldn't bring myself to talk about it. So after like five or six more sessions, I have no idea what to do anymore. I guess I'll just go back to sitting alone in my room crying every night.

It frustrates me to go through six months of this crap to just end up right back where I started.

I had various chatty things but I don't really feel like writing about them after that. Maybe sometime I can write a normal entry without any dumb therapy stuff. So I guess that's it.