I want to go back and reread my blog, but sometimes doing that makes me feel awful. I hate to read my own writing, especially when it is particularly emotional.

I’ve been watching the Bourne Identity every day (parts of it, actually.) I’m not sure if it is because of my state of mind, or because I didn’t have cable and had to watch what was on my Tivo. Although I do have cheery movies on the Tivo as well. Something about the Bourne Identity really affects me, even though after watching it a hundred times I still don’t understand some parts of it. But the Bourne Identity is a bad sign for me.

I’m worried.

While he was reading I was looking around. I noticed the Purell. When he was done I told him that he can use the Purell. Since I mentioned it three weeks ago he hasn’t used it when I come in. He said he can’t use it today and showed me two open blisters he had on his hands. He said he used it yesterday and Ouch! I said, but seriously, its fine that you use the Purell, I didn’t mean to make you stop using it. He said, it’s only been three weeks since you said anything, and I said, “And you haven’t used it in front of me since then.” He said he only uses it about twice a day, and wouldn’t you know since I am the first person he sees in the morning he has been doing paperwork and typing and feels his hands might be germy. I said, “So it has nothing to do with me, and the fact that I emanate germs and you have to disinfect when I walk in? Maybe you need a spray version of it so that you can get all the germs I give off.” He said, “Well, I do disinfect the couch before you come in.” And I said, “And after, too, I hope.”

Then we talked about the VIMH. He said it’s great that I wrote that all out, and that I gave this voice an entity. He said he knew about someone with an eating disorder, and she gave it a name. I said, “Ed?” He said, no that would be too obvious. “Nigel.” (??)

But giving the disorder a name had some purpose; I can’t remember what it is now. He said I should give the VIMH a name. I’ve been thinking about that, it would scare me to give it a name. It would have too much power if it had a name, wouldn’t it?

He said obviously no matter what I do, this voice will tell me it’s not enough. What if I see a turtle crossing the road and pick it up and put it in the grass and even give it a little bowl of water. The voice would say, what about all of the other turtles, why aren’t you taking care of them?

That reminded me of an article I read about a jellyfish. J and I had talked about jellyfish a few weeks ago. I asked if he heard about the big jellyfish in New Hampshire. He hadn’t. So I told him the story. A 40 pound jellyfish wandered in the water of New Hampshire, where this type of jellyfish doesn’t usually venture. It somehow died and broke apart, but the jellyfish tentacles can still sting even when they are not attached to the jellyfish body. That morning in New Hampshire 150 people got stung by the tentacles and five people had to go to the hospital.

So that was a little tangent.

Back to the VIMH. He talked about the validity of the real me vs the VIMH. He asked which one is more valid, and I said, “Logically, or which do I believe?” He thinks the real me is correct more often than the voice. We talked about times when the voice might be good, like if you have the impulse to do something bad or wrong and the voice tells you not to. But generally, the voice is incorrect, and operating out of lack of objective evidence.

He told me about the id, ego and super ego of Freud, and what each one does. He said my super ego is very harsh.

He asked what I ultimately decided – who is right, me or the voice? I said that I posted this on my blog and everyone says it is ok that I felt good about myself when I helped my son, and that I did help him. But I said that of course they all said that, they had to. They aren’t going to post mean things to me on my own blog. He went over the whole thing with me and told me that I did a good job and I should feel good about it. He asked if I think EMTs feel bad when they help people. It’s not like they sit around saying, “I hope we have a few good car accidents today.” I said, “Maybe they do. If they don’t have accidents they can lose their jobs.”

I told J that no matter what anyone said to me, I didn’t believe that I made things better for my son until I actually asked him and he said that the things I did were helpful.

I asked him how the voice got in my head, and he asked me how long it has been there. I have no idea. I asked what the voice gets out of saying mean things to me. I was thinking that it’s hard to be good all the time, there is so much pressure. But J was telling me about how it’s easy to get into a pattern of what you know, it is comfortable. Even if it is abusive. For example if a child is abused she may end up marrying someone abusive, because that is what she knows. I was confused about this part and what it had to do with the voice.

I asked him how to get the voice out of my head. I told him that I want to kill it. He asked what I meant by kill. Silence. I don’t think I answered.

He said rather than get rid of it, I need to make the “me” louder and the voice quieter. I asked how I do that. I’m drawing a blank here. I don’t know what happened. I don’t think I got an answer. I don’t think J knows the answer, and this happens week after week. He tells me I need to do something, but he doesn’t tell me how. I would like to make the VIMH quieter, but how?

He said it is like a bully, and it is very harsh and it has been making me feel bad about myself for a long time. And he told me how to stand up to a bully, but I can’t remember that now. He said I am smarter and stronger than the bully, and I said I don’t think I am, but he says I am.

He also asked me how my son was after the blood test and I told him how talkative he was, and how he is planning on taking some classes at the community college. This led to a whole discussion about how I am being supportive of him and making him feel good about himself, and how I can continue doing this. I told him that my husband made my son feel bad because he said to him, “Are you really going to go to classes? Are you really going to do your work?” And I thought it was a stupid thing to say, because my son finally got the motivation to think about school, it’s not like we are pushing him into it. And I think we need to be supportive and positive, and my husband was being very negative. J asked if I said anything to my husband about this, and I said no. He suggested talking to my husband and telling him we need to be united and present a supportive front. I told him it sounded very patronizing to me. I wouldn’t like it if he talked to me that way. I don’t plan to talk to my husband about this. Unfortunately my son now knows not to talk his father about his plans, because he’ll just be shot down. But the thought of talking to my husband as though he is a child isn’t appealing to me either.

So although we did a lot of talking today, I don’t feel that anything is resolved. This is continually happening. I know I need to change, and what needs to change, but I don’t know how to do it. And J doesn’t seem to be able to tell me how either. I’m starting to think “What’s the point?”

Hope you’re all ok!

He deleted the facebook comment I made. He said his friend saw it and was angry and hurt about it. We talked about it, and decided that since he had copied and pasted me some things she said about his upcoming testing, that I had gotten it out of context and therefore it was a misunderstanding. I still think his friends weren’t particularly encouraging to him, but hey, they are teenagers and very young adults, all of whom are on the immature side. It’s a learning experience.

We talked about what he is going to say when he calls the doctor tomorrow. He’ll be talking to the doctor’s assistant, which is probably less threatening (the doctor is very very nice, but still…)

In the meantime, he is still having issues with nausea and vomiting. Not a pleasant way to live. I hope we can find a way out of this without too much anxiety. This house seems to be reverberating with anxiety.

Did I mention my husband’s anxiety? He throws up every morning when he is under stress. It’s more like really bad gagging, or dry heaves. This began when he started working for a law firm back in 1988. We didn’t know what was wrong with him and he had tons of tests (including the barium x-ray) and they couldn’t find anything wrong with him. We figure its anxiety. It comes and goes, usually lasts a couple of months at a time, and usually caused by stress at work, or money problems at home. It’s been really bad lately.

This was my conversation with my myself this week:

Me: I feel good that I was able help my son get through his blood test despite his fear.

Voice in my head (VIMH): Great, that’s what it takes for you to feel good about yourself, your son getting sick?

Me: Well, I don’t want him to be sick, but I thought I was helpful.

VIMH: You probably made it worse. You made such a big deal out of the whole thing, with the numbing cream, and the Xanax, and laying down…. He was probably freaking out because of you.

Me: Maybe….

VIMH: If K (my husband) had brought him it wouldn’t have been such a big deal and probably easier.

Me: But K didn’t know the right things to tell the doctor about the blood test, or to ask about the Xanax, or to order the lidocaine cream, or to call the lab to find out if it is ok to use it, or to ask the technician if A could lay down.

VIMH: Yeah, and those things probably embarrassed A so much.

Me: I was trying to be helpful.

VIMH: Why – so you could feel better about yourself, or so you could help your son?

Me: So I could help my son, but I did feel good about it.

VIMH: Even if you didn’t make it worse, it’s nothing to feel good about. It’s your job as a mother.

Me: I know, but some people don’t know how to do the job.

VIMH: And you think you do?

Me: I thought I know how to handle his anxiety. But maybe I did make it worse. Maybe K should have taken him.

VIMH: K never would have taken him and you know it. It’s not his job.

Me: Right, I’m in charge of that kind of stuff.

VIMH: So when it gets screwed up it’s all your fault. Like today when A wouldn’t go to the lab to have the x-ray.

Me: I know that I said the wrong thing when I told him that he should just try to drink the barium, and if he can’t do it we can leave.

VIMH: Exactly. That was totally the wrong thing to say, because it allowed him to think that this isn’t even important, that there is another test he can do. So why would he bother even doing this?

Me: Yes, I feel bad now. I feel bad for feeling good about myself when my son is sick, and maybe making his anxiety worse, and I feel bad for telling him to just try to drink the barium instead of insisting he do it.

VIMH: Good for you! You should feel bad about yourself. You suck at this.

I went in there at 7am and told him he had to go. That he had to at least try to do it. He whined and said, no, he is not going. I tried to make him feel guilty, I told him that I cancelled my own doctor’s appointment this morning to do this (which was true – I had an appointment at the orthopedist and those are hard to get). I said we are leaving at 8:30.

At 8:15 I went in there and said “We are leaving in 15 minutes.”

At 8:30 I went in and said we are leaving and he said no. He is not going. I told him that I am done with this, if he wants to feel sick that is his choice and I slammed the door.

Then I posted a nasty message on his facebook that said: To all of A’s “friends” who convinced him that he would not be able to go through with his medical procedure this morning – what would you suggest we do next? You are obviously all “experts”. Why don’t you take over his medical care?

Of course it is not their fault, but I don’t think they are being very supportive either. He told me that they all said he’d never be able to drink the stuff; that some of them had this procedure and it is really disgusting and he’ll just throw up if he tries to drink it.

I had told him last week that he has to at least try, and if he can’t do it we’ll leave. Then he can have another test, an endoscopy. But now I’m thinking that was the wrong thing to tell him, because I guess he figured he didn’t really need to do this. I feel bad about that right now.

I wish he hadn’t waited until the last minute to cancel however.

Now the ball is in his court – I’m going to tell him if he wishes to proceed with diagnosing his problem he can contact the doctor for the next step.

Tomorrow is the barium xray. There isn’t anything I can do to help him with that one.

I asked him if he thought I made his anxiety worse by getting the lidocaine cream and the Xanax, and asking the tech if he could lay down, and all of the rest of it, etc. And he said, “No it helped.” The only thing he thought we could have done to improve it was if he had gotten dressed before I put on the cream. Having that cream with the plastic wrap and tape on both arms made it difficult to get his shirt on.

Will remember that in the future.

I thought if I was dead the following would not have happened:

1. No one would have told the doctor about A’s needle phobia and that any blood that had to be drawn would have to be done in one session, because it would be highly unlikely that he would do this more than once
2. No one would have asked the doctor if he could take some Xanax before the blood test
3. No one would have had any Xanax, or even would have known the proper dosage (well, I did need a little help with that)
4. No one would have thought to use the lidocaine cream
5. No one would have called the lab to see if they had anyone experienced in dealing with needle phobias and to see if it was ok to use the lidocaine cream and how to use it
6. No one would have called the doctor’s office to prescribe the lidocaine cream
7. No one would have known how to apply the cream, with the plastic wrap and the tape (the generic version doesn’t come with the handy plastic cover sheets with tape built right in)
8. No one would have asked the technician if she could do the blood test with my son lying down
9. No one would have known when to stop him from saying, “Wait, I’m not ready” and to take control and say, “You’ll never be ready. Take a deep breath and lay down.”

Was this helpful to him? I don’t know. Maybe he would have done the blood test just fine without those things. But I felt needed. And then you know what?

I felt guilty. My son is having medical problems, he feels like shit, and I am feeling good about myself because he needs me. How awful is that? It’s actually shameful.

And, frankly, maybe instead of helping him, I actually made the whole thing worse. By making such a big deal out of his anxiety maybe I was making him MORE anxious, instead of doing things to lessen his anxiety.

Maybe if I was dead, and my husband had to handle this, he would have just showed up at the lab, and sent my son in, and he would have had the same result in the end – two tubes of blood.

I just want to know why I can’t feel good about anything. What is it about me that makes me feel like I can’t like myself, that I can’t feel proud of myself, that I can’t feel like I’ve done something right?

If it had been someone else in my situation I would have praised them for being so empathetic and caring towards their child. But, here I am, concluding that I have made things worse. I really don’t understand the way my mind works, and why this happens.

So he started by saying, “Last week.” That was it. He wanted to know if I wanted to talk about the email I sent him. He said it was on his computer monitor right then and should he print it out. So he did.

I asked J if he thought I was too needy. He said I’m not and why would I think that. I mentioned the emails I send and asking him to leave me a voice mail. He said that isn’t needy, and that everyone has needs.

And about that voice mail, he was pleased I asked him to do that, not because it made him happy or made him feel needed, but because I was being resourceful and he was glad about that. He asked how I liked the response to his email, and I said it was fine. I told him that I wrote on my blog that emails from t’s are always unsatisfying, because they don’t do therapy via email. He asked what kind of response I would have liked to get and I said I don’t think that the email I would have liked would actually have been one I liked, because if he had gotten into everything I wrote about his response would be too open to misinterpretation. And what he wrote was not at all misinterpretable, so it was perfect.

We went into, again, how I thought he didn’t tell me about his vacation because he was angry or frustrated with me, and he said that actually he feels our therapy has been going much better lately, and we have been communicating better, that I seem more relaxed and talkative. I told him I drink a Red Bull Energy Shot 10 minutes before each session and it makes me more talkative.

He said he doesn’t know why for sure he didn’t tell me about the vacation, because it was an unconscious thing. But he is fairly sure it had something to do with me having been at the beach, and him thinking about running into “customers” while he was there and it would be uncomfortable, more for them than for him, he said, and also how I was telling him about the 13 year old boy who died in my neighborhood and how one of his other “customers” told him the same thing and I felt uneasy that perhaps someone from my neighborhood is his client. He was saying that all of these things brought up in him some uneasiness about crossing lines (not me crossing lines, just lines being crossed unintentionally). I was thinking I totally don’t buy this theory, but whatever.

Then he said that when we were talking about the boy who died he was wondering if he disclosed too much. I told him that I even gave him an out, I said, “Are you sure it wasn’t me who told you?” And he said, “I can’t lie.” I said, “Sure you can, there are times when it would be fine. Besides you have lied before.” He said, “When?” I said, “I don’t want to rehash that.” I’m still not ready to deal with the lying about the blog issue. I wonder if I ever will be.

Then we talked about the part of the email where I wrote about how great it is that he was willing to go along with my index cards experiment and he asked why I thought that was important to me. And I said it meant he was accepting of my weird methods of doing therapy and he said it’s not weird. I asked how many people have ever come in with a script for him and he said no one, but people come in with artwork, and pictures, and things, and 5 people have brought their dogs. I can’t see bringing my dog to therapy, she would probably pee on his rug. So then he talked about the bell curve again.

He also mentioned how sometimes I say I am or I do something “weird” and he tries to tell me it’s not “weird” and then I feel minimized or invalidated. And I said that was true. It’s kind of a paradox, on the one hand I want to be “normal” (whatever that is) and on the other hand I know I am not normal, or usual, in certain ways and rather than deny that and tell me that I am something I am not, I guess I would rather acknowledge it. But it puts him in a difficult position of not knowing which way to go at any given time.

Then we moved on to feeling worthwhile/worthless and he asked when I feel worthwhile. I thought a bit, then said “When I feel needed.” (Later on in the day I thought about this in regards to my son’s current situation, but I’ll write more about that later.) I want to feel needed, but I don’t want to feel needy.

He told me that lots of his clients email him, and it takes about 2 minutes to read an email, and he considers my degree of emailing intermittent and certainly not too much. He said one client would email him really long emails, and she would say that she didn’t expect a reply, she just needed to get everything out, like a journal. I asked if that was too much, and he said no. He said he’s only really had one client who abused the emails. I asked how I would know if I am abusing it and he said he would tell me.

I told him how I thought when I sent the email last week that I really shouldn’t send it, that I should just print it out and bring it this week, since I knew he wouldn’t totally respond via email anyway. And that I felt too needy sending it. He asked why I sent it then. I couldn’t even answer that. He said because I was responding to the need within myself to let him know how I felt at that moment, that waiting a week would not have been appropriate for me at that time and that was good. I said, “But I didn’t think about your needs, maybe you didn’t need to get an email right then. I pictured you seeing my name pop up and saying ‘Oh God, it’s that Harriet again’”. He said, “Is that what I said?” I said, “Yes and you rolled your eyes too.” He said that isn’t what he said or thought at all.

He asked me if I thought about what we talked about last week with the trash and the recycling. I had no idea what he was talking about. He asked me if I had a hard time doing that. I said it is really hard, then I said, “What are you talking about?” And he explained how I hold on to things, like holding onto trash and how I need to take it out once or twice a week. I said, “Are you sure you were talking to me about that?” I have no recollection of this whatsoever. He said we talked about it in the last 5 minutes of our session last week. I swear we didn’t. But he went over it again. I can’t remember what it is I am supposed to recycle. He asked if I pick up trash in the street, and I said no. We talked about picking up trash from our own yards, or if there is some trash and there is a trashcan right there, and setting limits on what trash we pick up and what we leave alone. This whole metaphor is really confusing to me, and I swear we didn’t talk about it last week. I know he must be confusing me with someone else.

But it all comes down to stopping my thoughts about myself from getting out of control. If I am angry with someone I should stop the thoughts there and not let them move on to “Oh there must be something wrong with me” or “This must somehow be my fault.” Like with his vacation, I was angry at him, but then I turned it around and made myself into the bad person. I told him about how I get angry with my daughter when she leaves her stuff around, and then I decide it’s my fault, because either I raised her wrong, or I am not worthy of respect. And this can go back and forth and never get resolved. I told him about the time last month when I was moving her stuff in the garage and I was angry that she left it all there, and I broke the glass bottle and picked up a piece of broken glass and cut myself. He seemed to take that pretty well actually.

The problem is he is always telling me these things to do, and they make perfect sense, but I don’t know how. How do I stop at being angry and not let it become my problem, or that there is something wrong with me? I need more instruction on this part of the process. He can give me all the metaphors in the world, but I just don’t know how to do it.

I think that was it for today! Maybe I’ll think of more, in which case I’ll write it tomorrow. It’s late.

My son had his blood test today. I put on his lidocaine cream at noon, then covered it with plastic wrap and taped it down. The lab told me to do both arms. Then at 1PM I gave him 1mg of Xanax. Our appointment was at 2PM. He seemed to be doing ok, he doesn’t really show any outward signs of anxiety.

When we got called into the lab room I asked the tech if we could have a room where he could lie down, and she said, sure no problem. We went into another room. He sat on the bed (whatever you call that thing), but he wouldn’t lie down. He kept saying, “Wait, wait.” That’s what he always does, he says he’s not ready and we need to wait. He was crying too. We gave him some time to breathe and the tech explained everything; she said she was going to use a butterfly needle which is very, very thin. She did say, “It won’t hurt a bit” which is a total lie, but at least he knows that.

Finally I said, you are never going to be ready, take a breath and lie down. He took a breath and I pushed him back into a lying down position. I didn’t shove him, just pushed gently. The tech gave him two test tubes (plastic, I asked) to squeeze and with his other hand he squeezed my hand. He had his eyes tightly shut and he was crying and shaking, but she quickly put on the tourniquet. She said “On the count of 3 take a deep breath” which he did, and she put in the needle. She quickly drew two tubes of blood and got that needle out of there. It was over very quickly.

He laid on the table for a while, calming himself, then got up and we left. He was very quiet. I asked if he wanted a treat or something to eat and he said no. About a quarter of a mile away he said, “Can I get Burger King?” So I stopped there and he got some food.

Then, because he was so relieved to have it be over with, or because of the Xanax, he became very talkative. I mentioned that my mother in law said he told her that he is going to take a course at the community college in September, and he said, “Oh yeah, I need to sign up for that!” This was news to me. We talked about what courses he might like to take, and whether the bus goes there, and that his grandmother offered to take him a couple times a week. He was so talkative! I think he was really glad that it was over.

I told him he did great and that he should be proud of himself. And if he could do this, he can definitely do the barium x-ray, which is on Friday. At least that isn’t painful.

I’m so proud of him too. It was so hard for him, but he did it.