Thinking My Way Out Of A Paper Anxiety Bag

I offered up my blog address to my therapist today.  When I was driving home I thought: "Oh, shit, I have no idea what I wrote."  The great thing about posting under an anonymous name is that you can let your inner dickhead flag fly so I tend to just let it rip without moderating anything.  I'm not trying to publish this stuff - I'm trying to get to the bottom of something.  I'm not trying to protect anyone's feelings - I'm trying to get stuff off my chest.  For instance if my sister ever read any of this stuff she'd never talk to me again, and I love my sister.

Everything looked to be up to snuff.  My inner dickhead was appropriately modulated.

Today - appointment two - she said something along the lines of "We can talk about your anxiety forever and you're never going to be able to think your way out of it."  The therapist did, not my sister.  My sister wasn't there.

Dammit.  I was hoping that a great deal of intellectual understanding was all that was going to be required.

Here were a few suggestions from today:
Jung - Memories, Dreams, Reflections (492 pp of what I can only assume is frothy and light-hearted reading although Dr. Jung is prominently featured in conjunction with one of our founders, as a great help).
Bessel Van Der Kolk (this is an excellent name, btw).
Peter Levine.
A drug called Cymbalta.
A local graduate institute.

That's quite a list.

Here are some other topics that came up:
Sex (Of course!)
My dead cat.
Weeping.
The thousands of undiagnosed cancers that I've had, all of which have magically disappeared with no aftereffects despite the fact that I did not seek nor did I receive any treatment, and none was offered.  Even though some of these cancers were virulent and unique to me.

The most intriguing suggestion was that I get to know my anxiety.  It's not "anxiety," it's "my anxiety."  It's doing something to me.  It's here for a reason.  It's trying to tell me something. "Hello, Seaweed, you dumb ass, anyone in there?"

The idea is to pull up a chair and have some talks with my anxiety along the lines of "fuck do you want, anyway?"  This seems pretty weird.  Also, I'm awfully fucking miserable right now so I'm going to give it a shot.  I thought You People were pretty weird when I'm wafted in The Program a while back, too.  But I was fed up.  I was done.  You could have told me Step One entailed dressing up like the Hamburgler and robbing a bank and I would have considered it.  That's where I am with the anxiety.  I'm thinking of giving up coffee for god's sake.

SuperK tells me this: "Here are the four most important things in the world to me. 1. God 2. The Fellowship 3. Coffee 4. Me.

I get that.  It seems very fair.  

I think I was a distant fourth.