So, I went to therapy yesterday and we did EMDR. I’ve done EMDR in the past, but that was back in 2007, so it’s been quite a while. I’ll tell ya, my therapist put me in a trance yesterday. I’m not sure if that’s normal because the problem was that I had insomnia the night before and was dragging.
She did this thing with her fingers where she moved them back and forth for the bilateral stimulation (right, left, right, left). I can see now how that would aggravate sleep-deprivation! I didn’t feel tired, but I came home and fell asleep. Interestingly, her fingers looked like large erasers, erasing the trauma of my bad memory. That seemed quite fitting indeed!
The weird thing was that we jumped right into it at the top of the hour, and then the hour passed in five minutes. When she said we were done, I didn’t believe her, so I discreetly glanced at her office clock, which was behind me. How had forty-five minutes passed? And we started on time, too, give or take two minutes of greetings and arrival, because I saw the clock at the top of the hour as well. So it was seriously putting me in a trance.
That’s kind of amazing, because I’m not capable of being hypnotized. I’m clinically incapable of physical relaxation, for one thing. But, wow.
I felt sorry for my therapist because I kept saying all this depressing stuff. After every bout of hand movements, she’d ask me what I was feeling or perceiving, and I’d say stuff that’s really tragic. I won’t get into it here, but it was details and stuff that she didn’t even know yet. (Just one example: “I’m like a discarded fetish-specializing prostitute.” Huh. That would be a great line for fiction!)
I could sense her getting sort of… overwhelmed by it, but she was very professional, and I was mostly just reading her energy (not her actions), meaning she did nothing wrong. At the end of the hour, though, she seemed so relieved (not that I blame her), and kind of like she wanted to shoo me away (not for any nefarious reason beyond fatigue and overwhelmedness).
I figure it’s harder to be the person leading EMDR than the person receiving it. It must take a lot of focus to do EMDR with someone for forty-five minutes, probably more focus that talk therapy requires. With talk therapy, I’d imagine that if you don’t have any great insight, you could ask the faithful fallback, “How does that make you feel?” and brainstorm while the patient answers.
I’m going back to do more EMDR for the next few Thursdays. I told her I want to try harder to visualize the memory so that I’m more connected to it and therefore more able to annihilate it. I’m very hopeful for a happier future.
Now if I could also manage my hormones (PMS, etc), things would be solid and great. Toward that end, I’ve decided to take extra Prozac for the week leading up to my period, which Dr. Phlegm has recommended in the past. I haven’t seen him all year due to the coronavirus. I’ve just sent him a series of letters every few months. In January, my letter said, “Help! I stole candy, and then I ate it!” That seems freakishly hilarious now. And it’s true! [Laughing out loud.]
Run, Meg, run with the candy!! The scary liquidator’s yelling at you!
Oh my gosh. For those of you who remember that incident, the hardware store is a thing of the past. Now, they’re opening a brand new yoga center in the building. If they anger me and put out candy, watch out! 😀
It’s fun being a writer because writing to a psychiatrist becomes a fun writing prompt. Like, what sort of crazy shenanigans have I been up to lately? It’s too much fun. I can’t imagine how much Dr. Phlegm’s been enjoying my correspondence (he never writes back), but I hope he at least finds it entertaining.
Well, I’d better get back to reorganizing and decluttering the house. Carry on!