my own case study

So, the more I learn about others, I more I realize about myself. Or frankly, the more I realize I don’t know about myself.

And the more I question other people’s motives and qualms and indecisions, the more I question how I can possibly help these other people or offer them any sound or helpful advice when I myself seem to be in need of some solid counseling just as much. I think I am being a little too hard on myself, thinking that I can just solve the problems of other people when I haven’t even been studying in this field for even four months yet.

I know it's not supposed to be about me..but i've started to resemble a casy study of my own..I am my own first patient.. me and all my itty bitty quirks which I seem ultra aware of all of a sudden..

It’s the little things like..

Why do I compulsively chew pens? (destroy is a better word..they don’t even resemble pens after they are done with me)
Why do I snort? (can be construed as cute or slightly endearing)
Why do I shred or cut off pieces of napkins at the dinner table? (err..not so cute, perhaps mildly psychotic?)..
Why do I always enjoy food off of other people’s plates much more than my own?(ok, I really have to work on that).
Why do I sleep with a bedraggled pillow case I have had since I was three?(it’s not even on the pillow anymore and it currently doesn’t even resemble a pillowcase..more like a rag..sorta like linus and his blanky, only he was a cartoon character..sigh..)
Why am I afraid of the dark or seeing a ghost or watching scary movies or hearing very loud noises? (no, no, it’s really not cute)..
Why do I always feel self-doubt, envy, anxiety? (oh, too broad for a parenthesis)

But, the point is that after enough case studies, journal perusals, definitions and lectures about varying psychopathologies from a to z, its not about all the other people anymore..its about me too. And I guess I wasn’t really banking on that. Journalism was never about me. It was about everyone else..writing stories about other people, interviewing people living vastly different lives than me..me being the keyword never ever to enter the story. And I guess that is how it should be now too..with counseling..I’m just finding that a lot harder. Things are hitting a little too close to home.

So, I’m either going to quit counseling all together or find a way to get to know me better. And I think the latter idea may be a little wiser at the moment, and a little gentler on the parental unit still folding my laundry and letting me live rent free because I am apparently supposed to get a job after I earn this degree. Err..that shall take up a blog of its own down the road, I’m sure.

In the meantime, I’m going to spend time getting to know me now so that during sessions later, I can do a better job helping clients to get too know themselves. Just how I am going to get to know me better..I’m not exactly sure yet..but now that spring is coming, I think I’ll have more outside time to think about it. In the meantime, don’t lend me any pens…unless you want to see my twisted psychopathologies in action.

march, writer's block and leprechauns

Maybe it’s a March thing.

Yes, I am sinking so low as to attribute my persistent writer’s block and lack of inspiration onto one of the 12 months. March. Immediately following that fleeting month of February, half of which being filled with chocolate hearts and sappy greeting cards, tiptoeing achingly slow on the heels of April’s glorious rain showers and spring. And for those of us who don’t savoir March Madness in all it’s college frenzy, we are left to celebrate our non-existent Irish heritage (ok, speaking for myself here) as we bob our heads to the great Irish ditties and the emphatic red-faced frat boys attempting to sing them. Kidding. But not about the ditties part. I do love the Irish ditties. And the bagpipes. Mustn’t forget the bagpipes.

Honestly, my point is that every year, I seem to grow tense and antsy during March. As in right now, this very second. I get tired of lugging around my heavy winter coat, not knowing whether the meteorologist predicts snow or sunshine. Things get stale, jobs get dull and the next school break isn’t until Easter week.

Now, I admit this March mess isn’t very becoming on me. In fact, recently a friend tried quite diligently to persuade me into actually liking March..accepting it for all its faults. He described it as a period of regeneration- quietly creeping out of its long winter hibernation and eagerly anticipating a fully blossoming spring. Yeh, I wasn’t really having any of it either.

But, something clicked last night. And being that it is still March, I am proud to say it most certaintly counts. It’s been a couple months now since I’ve started grad school. This being the third. And I cannot say it’s been overly easy. Entering the program in the spring semester, I noticed that most people already knew one another from the fall semester. And as for the campus, it may look small..but it often surprises me with its sneaky maze- like ability to trick me with new short cuts, confusing entrances and hidden stairwells. Harry potter style. Ha. Not quite.

I have been enjoying my classes but last night, I actually understood why I was there. I was listening, writing, participating, thinking. All good things. Maybe it was just a fleeting sensation, but for the first time since I have started the program, I felt like maybe this career is where I belong. It just so happens that during my ride home, I flipped to Q104 playing Guns & Roses “all we need is just a little patience. “ So, call me dramatic..but those words struck me. Patience. Just a little. Maybe that is why I always struggle with this month..I just need to have a little more patience.

In the meantime, I am going to milk my scapegoat for all its worth. Any problems, peeves, catastrophic disasters..I’ll just blame it on March or the color green or a funny little leprechaun in a top hat. Yeh, you have to agree. It’s definitely a March thing.