I don’t know how unusual I am,
In resisting pressure
To pay a therapist
For support after a bereavement.
This time,
It was said
That I could afford the expense,
But I would rather pay for call girls,
And crack,
Thank you.
It has been suggested countless times,
And each time
The suggester drops the subject
When I strenuously resist.
I am treated
With that much respect.
That, it is for me to decide.
But I sense generally,
That although I’m given agency,
My decision
Meets disapproval.
To me –
It is a simple case;
I am not seen as a threat or a nuisance, so
Am not obliged.
But I understand
Every time it is suggested
That I have exasperated the suggester
That they feel obliged to do something
That they cannot,
Or will not do.
That is their problem.
I pity them.
It is not my responsibility to conform
So I tell them each time;
There is no Eldorado,
For me,
On the other side of therapy.
I am, always was, and will remain –
A difficult customer.
Maybe….
They don’t hear this answer,
But instead
They measure my respect
For them.
schnark.home.blog 
I know from personal experiences that some holes can’t be filled. Some losses can’t be conquered. Keep your money in your pocket. Having someone explain it to you won’t make it any better.
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Thanks Dave,
Of course it’s not about the money, but the inappropriateness of the way that I would relate.
I am happier talking to people on the train, or at the bus stop.
But ideally, I need someone to need me, just a little.
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I know it’s not about the money. It’s about the loss. I know the loneliness too. And I’ve tried dating but the others can fill her shoes and I felt foolish trying. Better to be alone and lonely than with someone and unhappy. With some who through no fault of their own could never measure up
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I don’t know.
You might be right, but I think I need to find out for myself.
I’m sorry to hear that you’ve been here/are here.
The last thing Ute said to me, was to be nice to her parents, so I try to do that. The only other thing, of significance, she said during her three months of illness, was that I should find someone to love. I guess that’s partly because she wanted me to be loved, and partly because she didn’t think me strong enough to live without love.
Maybe I’ve already proved her wrong, maybe I’ve proved her right, different people may have different opinions. My friend telling me I need counselling probably thinks she was right, that I’m not coping, not doing “it” right.
I say fuck em all. I do what I do. And if it comes to it, clap me in irons, but until then, it’s my call.
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It’s alright not to cope. Where is it written we are always supposed to be happy and smiling? Loss is loss. I have not coped after Marsha’s death and doubt that I ever will. A part of me died with her. Half of my heart is gone. Who can thrive on half a heart? I get up and I make the day and do what I do. But I’m not alright. And I never will be again.
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It is beautiful that you say this. Some sort of tribute to her. It is warming to hear it, but I’m so sorry that you must suffer it.
I have said that I want my happiness to be my tribute, and at times I feel a complete fool, and a fraud and a wreck, but at other times, for precious moments I can be happy. I think I have a much more optimistic view of people and relationships than you. Maybe I am lucky that I’m strong enough to take the disappointment, and maybe one day I won’t be disappointed?
But it is sure that all life ends in death, and all excitement leads to drudgery….
You say that you don’t cope, and I won’t argue, but you do exist, and I see you, and I like to see you, so carry on!
S.
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