**TW: contains very mild references to ED related behaviours**
If you read my previous post, Guilty As Sin, you’ll know that self-directed compassion is something of a sticking point for me. This has been further compounded over the weekend by an unfortunate choice of words. My Dad in his (non-existent) wisdom decided (while I struggled to eat my evening meal due to ED related thinking patterns) to compare his recent stomach virus to my own difficulties, pointing out that his illness wasn’t his fault and could not be helped. He implied that I was making a choice, and therefore my ‘illness’ is my fault.
As it is, I have problems validating my illness, frequently tormented with ideas that I’m a burden, undeserving of the care and attention I get. Tormented with the idea that I’m not ill at all, but a phoney, a fraud. Unsurprisingly, this makes me angry and frustrated. At times I could claw my own face off. My mind conjures a maelstrom of self-destructive scenarios which leave me feeling exhausted, like I’ve been standing on a chair in the middle of a crowded room, screaming silently. Moreover, my head takes carelessly used words and creates a poisoned parrot for my shoulder, a parrot that repeats my version of the words over and over and over…
To clarify, I don’t think my Dad intended to hurt me as much as he has. He simply spoke the wrong words at the wrong time. But you see, I have
zero less than zero self-esteem and the slightest comment, however meant, can scar me. So he has inadvertently stoked the fire he was trying to quench.
I’m thinking seriously about cancelling my next Therapy appointment, because I can’t practice the compassion-focussed exercises that are expected of me. Indeed, I don’t think this type of Therapy will ever work for me because I’m not having it reinforced at home. It really doesn’t take much to knock my confidence.