The Bloody Doors Off

aka Corrective Cognitive Behaviour.

I wish I could download an app into my brain that would assist in this.

This was a major topic of discussion earlier today with my psychiatrist. When I get depressed, it’s hard for me to climb back up. I feel like… it’s out of my control to do so. And when you dig deep enough, peel back enough layers, this is the recurring issue. When I’ve got my hands on the wheel, it’s so easy to steer. I can set the course, read the directions, and reach my destination with ease. But when it’s out of my hands… I’m fucked. I try to steer into the skid and then fishtail and the world swirls and I pump the brakes too hard. If I’m lucky, I just land in the ditch and can eventually pull myself out.

But there are times I hit the telephone pole and wreck the whole damned car.

Here are two opposing examples:

1. In 2011, I reconnected with a woman I’d seen in 2007. K used to live in Toronto, but moved to Halifax to go back to school. We didn’t part in the best of terms, but over the years had cursory contact and repaired the friendship. She IM’d me originally to tell me she was getting married. And then, we flirted. Things got intense. (Yes I know.) Things got confusing for both of us. (Yes I know.) She stepped back, I stepped forward. It was a tumultuous couple of months. In February of 2012, I flew east and laid it all out. Asked her not to get married. (Yes I know.) I came back alone. Upside: I got closure and was able to move on. (You could say this was the second time I flew out to be with someone and was broken-hearted by the time the plane hit the tarmac.)
2. When I was a child, after my parents separated, I would travel by bus on occasion to spend time with my father. One time, I showed up and he was passed out drunk in the kitchen. Being 10 or so, I had zero idea of what to do. I could smell the booze, I knew he wasn’t hurt. I tried to make coffee (because I thought, to wake people up, you gave them coffee). So I boiled the water and freaked out when coffee didn’t magically come out of the pot. (He, to this day, drinks instant. I can’t touch the stuff. This is why.) I ended up calling his girlfriend for help. Downside: I was a fucking child who ended up scarred by this moment.

To wit: my doctor likes to point out that I ‘took control’ by flying out to Halifax and closing out this chapter of my life. And that, as a child, I had zero control over my parents’ divorce, or understanding of it, and it haunts me to this day.

If I’m going to make proper progress, I need to do more Corrective Cognitive thinking, and less kicking the darkness ’til it bleeds my eyes. So how do I think different? That’s what I want to know.