Monday, 16th of April

And so today, after six months – periods of which I have felt truly desperate inside - I ended my therapy with Louise.
I think she was surprised at how calmly and succinctly I ended it. But then I think she was surprised at how confidently I walked into her room, sporting my new found aura of control. Hurriedly – as she could see my determination not to have a full session – she reached for my file and asked me about some of the problems I’ve had in the last months. The first thing she raised were my dreams, and I told her that I was calmer about those. Flicking through the pages she asked how I now felt about Alison, I said that she had gone but I was over it now. What about Julie? We’re still in touch, I told her, so we’ll have to see what happens there.

Louse stared up from her file clearly a little lost. I think she thought I was the kind of patient who would be there for twenty years, that I’d be around to fund her pension. And now I was walking those years of potential treatment out of the door.

I didn’t want to stay long as I knew that if she enquired, it wouldn’t take much pressing for me to tell her that the good feeling came from my realisation that what’s happening inside my head is a puzzle and I have to solve it. Of course she wouldn’t see that as rational. And I knew that when the questions came, the therapy session wouldn’t stop where I wanted it to - but instead go on as she made sure I appreciated all her concerns. So even though she was still burrowing through her notes of our sessions, I smiled her a big grin and stood up purposefully.

She had been a great help to me, I told her, and I greatly appreciated it. Then I shook her hand and left her room for good.

Whatever is going on in my head cannot be solved by simple therapy, it is something much bigger than that and a challenge I must face in my own way.

Monday, 2nd of April

Well I can’t say it was my most productive session with Louise. Of course I told her my news straight off, almost blurted it out in fact – but then had to justify it. For much the same reason as I couldn’t adequately explain to Julie why I couldn’t see her anymore, so I couldn’t explain to Louise. I’ve not told either of them – these women I speak to more than any others – what has been going on in my head. So scared have I been of their disapproval, so annoyed that they didn’t understand and seemingly made no effort to understand, that I have blanked them both out of the important issues that bother my thoughts.
It of course begs the question, what the fuck is wrong with me? Why do I simply sit down and type into this blog, why don’t I reach out to anyone else around me? There are people who care for me (as well as the one person who is paid to care for me) – friends, family and a lover. Why do I persist on shutting them all out? Why do I instead sit here and type by myself, creating a monument to my madness?

So it wasn’t a happy encounter with Louise, and she clearly thought that when I couldn’t justify it that I should maybe reconsider my decision. That’s what she suggested.

I didn’t go that far, though I did text Julie and tell her once again I was sorry. So far I have had no reply.

Monday, 26th of March

Things I should try to improve this year:
1. My love life (although that seems to be going well, fingers crossed)
2. My book sales (well, I am trying).
3. My job.

I think Louise sees that last one as the root of all my problems – my general malaise in the world of work intruding into the rest of my life (and my dreams). But I’m not sure I buy her thesis, as I’m not overly ambitious career wise and happy to plod along. My job is something I do, not something I am. I did try to explain this to her tonight, but I think I failed. After all, I have told her I’m unhappy there and so one can’t blame her if she thinks I shouldn’t put up with unhappiness.

What else could I possibly do though? I’ve been in this job years now and still have no idea what else I could try.

Wednesday, 21st of March

I now understand why people who’ve read Nostradamus say he’s too vague. My father went through it as an undergraduate and he told me that the language is so flowery and the images so opaque, that you can interpret these ramblings to mean virtually anything. Yes he predicted ‘Hister’, but a lot of the others require a huge leap of imagination. I don’t think that I’m a new Nostradamus (not least because this blog is supposed to be there to promote my new novel – that might dent my credibility), but I now see some of the problems about prophesising the future. After all what I am really seeing? Is the world going to end when a meteor strikes, or a nuclear explosion, or some ancient monster from below, or something else? It’s impossible for me to tell, and predicting all those things at once just seems like desperation, as if no matter what happens I’ll be right.
Perhaps my therapist is correct and I have a problem, maybe my girlfriend is correct and I shouldn’t worry about it – but I can’t get these things out of my head.

Monday, 19th of March

My fever dreams are difficult to recall with any clarity now, but I’m sure there was one of them involving Louise. We were sat in her room, and her eyebrow was raised as I talked through one of the crises in my life – probably the dreams themselves, but maybe the intruder in my flat, or perhaps Alison. (Not even my own therapist takes me seriously). And just as her eyebrow arches its highest, there is a sudden explosion from outside. It’s an incredible sound, clearly not particularly near but one that vibrates through us both and smashes the glass in the windows. In an instant the air is sucked out of the room, and the expression on her face changes. It looks like fear, but perhaps there is also the realisation that she should really try to believe me.

Sunday, 18th of March

I tried to tell Julie about my dreams last night. We had a quiet night in and it was so sweet and pleasant an evening, and there just seemed to be such a deep and strong connection between us, that it appeared the right thing to do. I wanted her to share my thoughts, to understand what was going on in my head.
However, before I got very far at all, she kissed me on the nose and told me that the dreams would pass. I didn’t mention anything more about them, nor did I let on how deflated I felt.

I haven’t told her about seeing Alison (or the text message); I didn’t mention my suspicion that someone else had been in my flat; and now I’m keeping my dreams back from Julie as well. It’s strange as I like her a lot, we have a really good relationship together, but there is just so much going on inside my head that she doesn’t know about. There is just so much of me that she is clueless of.

My therapist doesn’t want to know, so is this the blog my only outlet for these worries? Is there anyone out there who understands what I’m going through?

Monday, 27th of February

I think Louise was surprised tonight at how upbeat I was (do people who are happy also go to therapists? It seems a bit like inviting a plumber around when there’s nothing wrong with the pipes, but maybe there are those who were unhappy but now they’ve gotten over it just go to continue having a chat. It’s a fix they can’t break). Having spent the weekend largely at Julie’s I had avoided my flat, while being with her seems to stop the dreams. Therefore there was a freshness to me, a joviality that Louise maybe hadn’t seen before.
In the event we spent a lot of time talking about my book, and how it was written the last time I was depressed and contains huge echoes of that. (Even if one produces a horror story about a Faustian pact, it can still be personal). Louise told me that a good thing some therapists recommend is writing down one’s problems, as you can of course see them more clearly in black and white. It didn’t feel like it at the time (I wrote it in the white heat of unhappy misery) but maybe the whole thing did me a lot of good. Maybe this blog is also doing me good, as despite all my moaning so far this year, I now feel happy, with a nice girlfriend and a holiday ahead. Okay, there are moments of paranoia and I’m sure there will be more dreams, but I can work on that.

Now if only I could lose the sense that if everything is so good, it’s bound to go wrong shortly.

Monday, 20th February - addendum

And so I finally went and saw Louise, and she sat there as I calmly explained that what I want from life this year is to make a real go of things with Julie, work to make my book successful, and perhaps do something about the fact that I’m in a crap and boring job that I pretty much hate.
I did not mention my dreams, I didn’t mention Alison’s disappearance (and resurrection over the telephone), I certainly didn’t mention my growing suspicion that someone else comes into my flat and makes themselves at home when I’m not there. I knew she wouldn’t have wanted to listen to any of those fears, to any of those notions which so dominate my mind. So rather than try to get past her wall of scepticism, rather than try to earnestly speak as she almost literally rolls her eyes – I decided to avoid it all.

I am now paying a therapist so that I can lie to her.

Monday, 13th of February

Things I would like to achieve this year.

1. Make things work with Alison.
2. Try and make the newly published novel successful.
3. Find out what my dreams really mean and what I can do to stop them.

The reason I didn’t go to see Louise tonight (I told her I had a migraine) was that I knew she would dismiss number 3 out of hand. She would want me to discuss other things – my job, for instance (she clearly finds it baffling that I’m so set on continuing in a job I hate), and the general drift of my life.

She would not countenance my dreams being any part of the discussion.

But – regardless of what happens with Alison, or with the book, (or even the fucking job) – I cannot conceive of me ever being happy again as long as these dreams continue.

February the 6th, 2012

So what am I scared of?
Well what I see in my dreams terrifies me and lingers in my mind throughout the days. Now the fact that Alison is out there somewhere, doing god knows what, is something else I find completely disturbing. And I suppose the fact that my life is really not going anywhere, must also be a point of fear.

Only the last one though, will my therapist take seriously.

I told her about the Alison phone call and even though she didn’t say anything, I could tell from the slight raising of her eyebrow (she has a very expressive face, and I sometimes wonder how conscious she is of it) that she didn’t completely believe me. Swiftly she ascertained that it was late at night, that I’d been drinking and from there I think she just assumed it was an hallucination. I told her that I could remember it clearly, but I failed to convince. In that soft, almost patronising voice she has, she told me that I had to try and look at things calmly and rationally.

To that end she asked me what I wanted from my life – the things I wanted to achieve, what goals I had. I’d gone in there to talk about Alison, about Julie even, but ended up having a long conversation about things that I normally keep at the back of my mind. This meant there was much mumbling and stumbling as I tried to work out what my goals might be, and more raising of eyebrows from her.

My homework (fucking homework again!) this week is to work out targets for my life that I can easily achieve this year.

I’m starting to wonder why I go to see her.

Monday, 30th January 2012

What is it I am actually dreaming about when I dream of the end of the world? Sometimes these visions in my head are so real, I think they’re actually predictions. That what I’m enduring is the way it’s going to end for everybody. But then the apocalypse in my dreams unfolds in such different ways: sometimes whatever it is comes from above and sometimes it’s from below. Sometimes I imagine there are missiles raining down on me, other times I think it’s a huge asteroid. So am I actually seeing anything? Are these dreams just random nothings that I should really try to forget?
At therapy tonight, after we had talked seemingly endlessly about Alison, Louise asked if I was still having my dreams. I was forced to concede that yes I am, and that yes they are still bothering me. She told me that to her they sound like paranoia, some innate fear that I’m suppressing. In her softest voice she asked me what I thought that might be, and I told her I have no idea. My words spewed out so fast as I tried to remind her of the things I’ve seen in my dreams that I later saw in real life, but she clearly thinks that’s just my imagination going wild. My homework, she told me, is to work out what it is really frightens me.

Homework? I’m not still at fucking school.

January the 9th, 2012

At last, what I’ve been waiting every long day so far of this young year, the chance to speak to Louise.

Louise is my therapist, a short and precise blonde lady who lives over in Hither Green. I’ve been seeing her for a year now – since long before the dreams started – just because I thought my life could do with some sorting out. I came to the point one day where I thought it needed a kick-start. The boys don’t cry thing means that therapy is frowned upon by men, as if seeiking help means you’re not capable of looking after yourself. But it’s far more useful than bottling your problems in, it’s far better – if you think you need it – to try and face the problems with someone than try to battle along just on your own-some.

She knows about my dreams. I think she worries about my dreams while at the same time telling me that they’re just delusions, symptomatic of other problems. Over the last few weeks we’ve talked a lot about my dreams, but tonight we scarcely mentioned them.

Tonight, we talked about

1. The Mugging
2. Alison

“Why did you do what you did?” she asks about the encounter just off The Thames Path.

I stutter my way to a response as it’s a mystery to me too. Eventually after what seems like half an hour of just inarticulate sounds, I say that I did it as a challenge to the world. That this life can throw anything at me – just as it throws those dreams at me – and I can raise myself up and face them.

Her eyebrow raises, clearly she thinks having a knife pressed to my throat is a more dangerous scenario than some dreams I might or might not have. 

She asks how it made me feel.

I tell her honestly that it scared me, but also made me feel so good. Standing up for one’s self will always make one feel good.

Louise points out that there are some moments when it’s better to lie down than to stand up.

Towards the end of the session we finally tackle Alison. I still haven’t heard from her. Something has gone awry somewhere. Louise doesn’t tell me that I’m being silly, that there has to be some rational explanation. But she does try and get me to a mindset where I accept that there might possibly be a rational explanation. She doesn’t want me to do anything rash.

How can I do anything rash though? I can’t even get hold of Alison.

I leave the session feeling better than when I went in though – I always do. Even though there are no answers, even though there are no real conclusions, talking through one’s darkest problems with a sympathetic ear (albeit an ear that’s paid to listen and be sympathetic) does make me a feel a hell of a lot better.

And now the long, dark week ahead before the next session.