Fear and Rejection in Southern California.

So I've been going through a suckling phase.  Emotionally speaking, that is.  I have been a whining, suckling runt the last few days, feebly searching for a warm nipple of comfort, and freaking out about mostly insignificant things, scurrying for a little sweet milk from the teet of Validation and Reassurance.

Nothing makes me more annoyed at myself.

Side note: an old boyfriend and I used to have a saying: "Validate me."  We used it as code whenever one of us was feeling the need for a tad more coddling than the other was supplying.  We used to joke that we should make t-shirts out of the saying, since it seems everyone needs a little validation from time to time...

 So, after the swirling toilet water of my damaged ego and insecurities had been rounding the bowl of the proverbial emotional toilet the last few days, I was really looking forward to rounding out my day yesterday with a little yoga and a trip to see my awesome therapist.  (A therapist who has known me for years and, by now, knows my brain and the stench I start to put off when I become unreasonably soiled in my own fear and self-doubt.)  I had plans to ask her in a very direct manner to tell me to immediately pull my head out of my ass and get on with living my very happy life.  So I hurried across town, only to pull into the parking lot of her building and notice that her car wasn't there.

I immediately went into Needy Girlfriend Mode with my therapist and called her (despite the fact that all I had to do was walk upstairs to see if she was, in fact, in her office or running late) and left a panicky message:

Me:  Uhm, hi ______.  It's Morgan.  Uhm, so, I just got here, but your car isn't here.  I'm hoping you're upstairs, or maybe you're running a little late...?  Uhm, okay, I guess I'll just go upstairs, and hopefully see you in just a moment!!!!!


Then I put on my big girl panties and went into the building and up the stairs, to find that the suite was completely and totally dark.  No one home.

I can't even tell describe the sound my heart made when it sank.  But, if I tried, I'd probably tell you that it sounded very similarly to the clubbing of a baby seal.

I immediately relegated my conscious, mature self with recognizing that therapists have lives, too, and it is completely natural that my therapist, goddess though she is, could have forgotten our meeting.  I mean, we sometimes go several weeks without seeing each other, and we did just have a holiday weekend....

I sacked up and went back to my car, noticing that my therapist was calling me on my previously-silenced cell phone.

Her:  Hi, Morgan.  Is everything okay?
Me:  Uhm, yeah.  We're meeting, right?
Her:  *Brief pause of recognition*  Well, we met last week, right? --
Me:  --No, because it was the holiday.
Her:  *Another brief pause*  Oh, shoot.  You're right.  I am so sorry, Morgan.  I'm not in town today.
Me:  Oh.  Okay.  That's okay!
Her:  Oh gosh, I'm so sorry.  Listen, I'm back in town tomorrow, I'll have my book, and I'll call you to see what we can work out for the rest of the week, okay?
Me:  Ha-ha.  Okay.  That's okay, I didn't come very far, just from yoga.  
Her:  Okay, talk to you tomorrow.
Me:  Ha-ha.  Okay!


So there I was, all excited about purging to my therapist about the monkey banging proverbial pots and pans in my mind, ready to ask for some serious advice (which I never, never do), and I was... rejected.  If I had been less emotionally stable, it would have been a total Patch Adams moment.  Or wait.  I would have been the guy in that movie Because I Said So, coming to my therapist's office and asking why she hadn't returned my calls.  See?  Needy Girlfriend Mode.

Except, in real life, I would rather beat myself unconscious with a rubber mallet to keep myself from calling a boyfriend and asking why he hadn't returned my calls.  I am so ferociously protective of my pseudo-image of myself as a self-actualizing, unconcerned and confident human, that I will go to great lengths to prevent coming off as even the slightest bit needy.  And, if I perceive that I have been less than my most wholesome self, I will apologize ad nauseum and say things like, "I realize this could come off as really needy, and I really hate myself for it, but..." and justify my feelings and actions until I am blue in the face.

I know. Hot, right?

I am like a horse who will drink water until it's dead.  And my therapist still hasn't called me back.