I’m regressing. It’s probably paradoxical, because psychological regression often comes before a breakthrough to more emotional freedom. As I prepare to dive into the dark abyss that lies in the center of me, ghosts of my past rise up from it to torment me. I know these ghosts which seem so sinister are nothing more than paper tigers, but I’m still so afraid.
Today the rage I was feeling for the past few days has lessened, but has been replaced with something that feels much worse–paranoia.
My terror of abandonment and rejection (and then having to face the emptiness I’ve carried for so long but tried to not feel) was triggered in a major way a week ago. This is manifesting in me as hypervigilance, insecurity, and suspicion of others, even those few (and I mean few!) people I normally trust with my life. I feel like I’m imagining or worrying about even further (and worse!) betrayal and as a result, I’ve been acting more insecure than I have for a long time, even to the point of “fishing for reassurance” (which I know is a type of subtle manipulation used by many Cluster B people). These sneaky ways of obtaining reassurance as if I’m jonesing for a drug fix are very Borderline in nature, and also typical of covert narcissists. I’m trying to keep my head together and stay mindful and of course pray a lot to not feel so insecure and suspect those I love of plotting horrible things against me. At least I’m aware of the ways I’m acting and feeling.
I’m glad I decided to take these 3 days off from work, because frankly, I just can’t deal with any people right now. I’m not fit to be around anyone.
Mowing the grass today for the new neighbors moving in upstairs helped a little by keeping me in the present, but it’s only a temporary fix. I’m writing as much as I can, and later today will be writing a fictional account very much related to what I’m feeling. I think it will help because I know that writing it will prove to be cathartic for me; I need to get rid of all this psychic poison swirling around like a toxic miasma, making me feel sick and crazy and suspecting every angel of being a secret devil.
I just gotta stay strong and as mindful as I can, and I gotta just keep writing and writing some more, even if my fingers bleed from typing so much. My therapist warned me this would happen. He thinks I’m ready. I’m glad I took a few days off from work and I see him again in a couple of days.
Is this what a breakthrough feels like before it begins?