Psychologists, Therapy, Novel, Oh My!

 Hey everyone (and by everyone I mean my two readers, I see you), I haven't written in my blog in four days, so guess what that means? It means it's time to write on my blog!

A few things have occurred in the last few days. Yesterday, I saw my new therapist for the second time. I like her, but I'm afraid, sort of like my friend said, that I'm going to dislike her as time goes on. I sort of have this problem, where the more time I spend with someone sometimes, the more I see their flaws and the more I get annoyed with them just from spending time with them. This is an irksome issue I have. A friend I had once for one month, an example of my friendships boiling and erupting into nothingness, told me I might have BPD, borderline personality disorder. She implied it at least. She kept going on and on about BPD that one afternoon. She said that one feature of BPD is that people who have BPD tend to have really short-lived friendships and get angry at their friends sometimes, which sort of sounds like me, not going to lie. 

So I'm really hoping that the same thing does not happen with my new therapist. I think I already mentioned this, but I switched from my old therapist because I didn't feel like he gave me space to talk, and he didn't let me talk about the things I wanted to talk about. I felt like ever since he found out I was gay, all our conversations ended up spiraling into, like, do I accept myself for being gay? Am I having safe gay sex? Why do I feel disgusted at myself for having sex? I felt like he really just didn't get the point. It wasn't that I was disgusted for having sex, but for the way I was having sex. And I never said I don't accept myself for being gay, or that my parents don't accept me for being gay. I feel like it goes deeper than that. It's a societal thing, and there are other forces at play which makes my queerness not exactly the most convenient position to be in as a human being. 

I like my new therapist because she at least gives me the space to talk. I talked about some pretty traumatic things at my last session with her, and didn't devolve into, why do you feel like you're ashamed of being gay? What about being gay is affecting you? Things like that. It really bothered me, obviously, the way that my old therapist would always pigeonhole me into that topic. It was extremely frustrating, to say the least. And another difference between my old therapist and my new therapist is that my new therapist is female, and my old therapist was male. She's also the first female therapist I've ever had. I feel like, not to be sexist, but I feel like I can relate more and feel more open to talking to a female therapist, as opposed to a male one. With a male therapist, I tend to feel trapped, or stymied, or like I said pigeonholed, and with a female therapist I feel freer to make associations and connections, and I feel like I can speak my mind more freely. With a male therapist, I feel judged, but with a female therapist, I feel encouraged. So if you also happen to be a gay millennial male and have been struggling with male therapists, might I suggest a female therapist? 

Something that has still been bothering me on the psychological front however is my psychiatrist. Even though she is a woman, a female psychiatrist, she still manages to make me feel colonized, and on edge, for whatever reason. I always feel slightly manipulated by her, and I don't know why. I always come away from each interaction feeling like something has been taken away from me, as if something has been stolen from me. I have had the experience of being stolen from before by someone I trusted, and it does not feel good. I was just listening to a podcast of said person who stole from me, and it brought me back to low-vibrational vibes. That person still follows me on instagram, and it reminds me that not everyone is the same as their online persona. Or at least, the extent to which their real personality matches their online clout is not always consistent. I also feel like stealing and like shoplifting might also be a feminine thing. Maybe I need a male psychiatrist, and a female therapist. I had an experience with a male psychiatrist a couple of months ago, and he just made me feel more like I could trust him and more like I was being taken care of. Come to think of it, I've only had female therapists, and they both made me feel sort of manipulated and less than, and my one experience with the male psychiatrist gave me the opposite feeling. He was just like the manager or something though, and doesn't regularly work at the clinic I work to, so I don't think I can request him. But maybe I could switch to a male psychiatrist. Thank you blog, for letting me write into this particular epiphany. 

In another news, I also have been working more on my novel, Dreams of Autumn Wind and Rain. I posted some of it here, and here, but please don't read it, because it doesn't exactly make the most sense. I edited it some today with the help of ChatGPT, and I've also been writing more on the tail-end of things on my phone, like I've been typing it out on my phone. ChatGPT was kind of super helpful with editing it, though. It pointed out the parts that seemed disjointed (because I asked it to), and the parts that could use some transitions. It helped me realize which parts I should cut, and I did. I was actually just working on it, but I hit a block, and decided to start writing on my blog instead. It's been kind of slow going though. I'm at around 17,000 words right now, and I think I want the total to be around 100,000 words, so I'm about a little less than a fifth of the way through, though I feel like I still have a lot more cutting to do, so maybe I'm really like an eighth of the way through. I'm not really sure. This is the first time I've made serious headway in writing a novel. I've made some spurts and starts before, but I never made it that far. This is the first time I feel like I might actually have a chance to complete a novel, that makes a decent amount of sense. 

Actually, that's not entirely true. I have written a full-on 200 page novel about me and my ex who never officially dated. However, that thing was really just a 200-page word vomit, and nothing more. It made a bare modicum amount of sense, and it is completely unreadable. This novel is my first attempt at something actually readable, and I'm hoping I can get it published and send it out to agents, so I have to make sure it's actually good. I think I'm getting closer and closer to my goal everyday, but I just have to keep on writing and keep on keeping on. 

I must admit I still think about him, the ex I never actually dated, sometimes, even though our time together was almost five years ago now, and we only really hung out like twice. Or three times. Inherently unclear. But I miss him, and I still wonder about what he's doing. Cue "You're Wondering Now" by Amy Winehouse. But seriously, I still think about him, like a lot more often than would be normal for someone who you've met five years ago. Do any of y'all (aka the two people who read my last post) have the same experience? I would desultorily assume the probability of the same experience occurring within this small pool of people is 0.00001%. But, it's still worth a try. I still think about him though. And I don't want to stop thinking about him. Sometimes, I even still have feelings for him. This makes my friend concerned for my mental health, but I still feel like a healthy dose of love is always a good thing, never a bad thing. As long as it doesn't border on delusion, I think it's fine. 

Thanks for letting me blab. I realized I want to switch psychiatrists, and I am loving my current therapist, so it was a good idea to switch. And I need to consistently keep working on my novel, and eventually it will be finished! Signing off now, hope you have a good Wednesday and rest of your week.