I overslept again this morning. I would have got to work on time, but there was a slight train delay and I was a couple of minutes late. This office doesn’t seem to be as strict about timekeeping as my last job, but I felt bad. I think of myself as a punctual person, at least when other people are involved (when I just want to do something by a certain time for myself, my time management is not always the best, largely due to depressive procrastination and probably also to self-sabotage stopping me doing things I enjoy).
Previously, I had been working through most of the data my boss gives me each day, but leaving some over for the next day. Today I was asked to go through all the data by the end of the day. I managed it, but I had to stay a little late and I felt that I was rushing a bit, which worried me as I am still making mistakes, although I think I have found a new way to check my work before submitting it.
The stress of having to do all that work on time and the stuffiness in the office, combined perhaps with my inner critic attacking me for lateness, slowness and mistakes (more of the inner critic in a moment) resulted in a headache by lunch time. I went for a walk instead of working on my Doctor Who book, although the headache didn’t really go until I took some painkillers.
I’m having some trouble with my Complex PTSD book. The book tells me that I need to challenge my inner critic. The book says the inner critic is an internalisation of the voice of one’s abusive parents. The problem is that I don’t hate my parents the way the book thinks I should and I certainly don’t think they were abusive. I acknowledge that my issues date back to childhood experiences, albeit not just with my parents, but I don’t think my parents were terrible parents and certainly not abusive ones; there were a number of difficult things going on when I was a child that were not in my parents’ control that were the source of my problems, including my borderline autistic traits (at a time when these were not widely recognised) and some other family issues, as well as bullying at school. My parents would have benefited from guidance that could have helped them make some better parenting choices, but I don’t hate them or feel furious with them. It’s upsetting to read a book that seems predicated on my seeing my parents as being hugely abusive and my needing to challenge them. At the same time, it is silly to deny that a lot of my childhood was upsetting and maybe even traumatic in the technical use of the term and years of psychodynamic therapy still haven’t exhausted all the things I would like to say about it (but feel I shouldn’t say here). I don’t know where this leaves me, especially as I’ve just stopped psychodynamic therapy.
The other issue is that to challenge the inner critic, I am supposed to state that I don’t deserve to suffer. The problem is that I think I do deserve to suffer. I suppose I can acknowledge that I’m not so bad. Although I don’t really think I’m a great Jew, I’m not doing anything really terrible in the Harvey Weinstein school of awfulness. But… when the depression (and/or all my other issues) is bad I act out. I won’t spell out what I do (and it isn’t anything illegal, dangerous or which directly hurts me or anyone else), but I think it’s bad, Judaism thinks it’s bad and some secular people think it’s bad. I sometimes feel like I deserve the depression (and/or everything else) to punish me and that not being able to marry is very much a punishment middah keneged middah (measure for measure). But then I think I became depressed when I was in my teens and Judaism teaches one doesn’t get punished until one reaches the age of twenty (God gives a cooling off period to gain maturity) so the depression can’t be a punishment. But then I think that even if it wasn’t a punishment then then, it could be now. And I go back and forth. My therapist and my rabbi mentor know about this stuff. My therapist says I’m normal and loveable. My rabbi mentor says that lots of people struggle with this halakhah (law) and that I’m a good person. But I can’t internalise it. And the self-loathing and despair just makes me act out again. (This is probably why the rabbis said not to think of yourself as wicked.)
I used to get pure O OCD thoughts, worrying that I had accessed illegal websites without realising it and would go to jail and be disowned by my friends and family. It was probably built on this self-loathing and fear of discovery… yet there is also a desire for discovery. I want to write in more detail about my acting out and have been dropping heavy hints. I’m just fed up with hiding myself. I want everyone to see how awful I am. Then there is no risk that anyone will ever love me again, and I won’t suffer any more disappointment.
I think I need to see a CBT therapist, as I’m not going to be able to challenge these thoughts alone. I emailed the therapist who helped with my OCD, but she hasn’t got back to me yet; I see on her website that she has, however, put up her prices…
Oh, and Dad thinks that the ginger cat that lived near my parents’ house and which seemed to like me (s/he rubbed affectionately back and forth against my legs once, wich is more affection than I’m used to getting) died. I keep thinking about whether I could look after a cat. I suppose that, having resigned myself to never being well enough to get married and have children, I’m thinking about other options of someone to care for.