Control

Things haven’t been going very well. Last night I spun out completely and C caught the brunt of it at a bad time for them and without preparation. I have since been able to dissociate from my feelings enough to postmortem my past five days and I have a fairly solid picture of how and why things went sideways.

I also have an almost unbearable feeling of shame and guilt over losing control that way. And it is always compounded by well-meaning suggestions that all seem to involve… not losing control. Yes, if I had control of myself, I would have stepped away/out of the room, I would have taken deep breaths, I would have asked someone for what I needed, I would have checked in with my conversation partner about whether they could handle me in that moment, I would have held off until therapy day, I would have gone and written a journal entry, I would have hidden in the basement and cried into a pillow… I would have done any number of things differently if I had control.

But I didn’t.

And that is mortifying.

And the more people offer suggestions, the more mortifying it becomes. Inherent in all of these suggestions is an assumption that… normal humans have executive function, can anticipate, plan ahead, control their actions, possess self-awareness… all things I lose when I lose control. I don’t lack understanding. I don’t lack the skill set or the knowledge. I lack the literal impulse control to do what I know I should do.

And no, I’m not dangerous. I don’t say or do unforgivable things. I become less skillful with navigating interactions with humans. I fumble things which I know better than to fumble. I do things I know better than to do. I interrupt. Or I talk over. Or I stream of consciousness until someone is uncomfortable. I make social blunders.

And I know better. I have carefully curated my social skills to fit in with the normal world. I have worked for my social skills. They never came naturally. They are hard won.

I don’t lose them because I don’t know better.

I lose them because I can’t do better.

And that… is so much worse.

Thankfully, I do possess the capacity to grab my brain with both hands when my self-awareness finally gets a finger-hold, or when someone else brings my attention to what I’m doing. I can wrestle my executive function long enough to get away before it explodes in even messier fashion. But I can’t always predict the initial slide, I can’t always see my own slide coming, I can’t always realize BEFORE I fuck up in order to stop it from happening in the first place.

And the really vicious part of me says I should die for that fault. It is a literal deadly sin to misstep in someone’s space. Having a narcissistic father did a hell of a job training me to mortally fear stepping out of place.

Today C asked if there is anything that helps when I’m struggling like this.

C wants to problem solve. And would prefer I stopped apologizing…

C hasn’t written me off.

And I’m grateful for that. Even if I don’t feel I deserve it.

My doctor thinks the whole thing is a net positive, even if it was terribly painful. He thinks I am loosening my stranglehold on my emotions. The stranglehold which meant I could keep the literal horror show of my life at arm’s length. The stranglehold which let me function.

He thinks it is a sign that therapy is working. He thinks that I’m accessing a pressure release valve and things are starting to spill out. He thinks this is a good thing, but that I’ll have to develop my strength around how and when the pressure releases. He thinks as the overall pressure decreases, that will also become easier.

He also thinks I’m terrified of people seeing what I’ve hidden. Terrified that I will cause someone else harm.

He’s right.

I was a better person before I stated getting better.