CBT- When the Adaptive Becomes Maladaptive

As I've said before, there is an experiential factor for my anxiety disorder. Many of my behaviors and beliefs* and attitudes were born as coping mechanisms and defenses against my father's behavior. At the time, those things were adaptive. They were necessary. I did need to be hyperaware of other people's emotions, it kept me safe from my father's ever shifting moods. I did need to be cynical at best about other people's promises and motives. My father's promises- and by extension, my mother's**- were meaningless and often manipulative, and his motives were base at best. Knowing and being aware of these facts helped me cope. I needed to keep things inside, letting them out would have resulted in harm.

The problem is, these adaptive behaviors become maladaptive as time went on. They crushed me under their weight.

And there's more.

I obsessively take notes and make lists. This is necessary to a degree. My illnesses have destroyed my short term memory and in order to keep up with the normals, I have to write things down. I don't have to write down everything that will happen when- when- I get fired. (That list starts with "homeless" btw.)

Again, adaptive behaviors becoming maladaptive.

For the first time, I grok the struggle of people with ED. Alcoholism has one advantage: you don't need alcohol. If you can manage to stop drinking it, you don't have to go back to survive. Not so much with ED. You have to eat to live. There's no getting around that.

My therapist told me to stop taking notes and making lists. For people with normal memory function, this would be good advice. I don't have normal memory function. Even on a good day, I will walk into the copy room with the document to be copied in my hand and not be able to remember why I'm in that room. Then I get back to my desk, see the document in my hand and remember.

So, adaptive behavior that is also maladaptive, and I can't stop doing it.

So, we compromised, the therapist and I. Before I make a list, I have to ask myself what this list will accomplish, or rather whether it will accomplish. Lists that will actually accomplish something- helping me buy the right food at the store, reminding me of chores to do, reminding me of tasks to do at work- are acceptable. Lists that simply codify panic- what will happen when I get fired- are not acceptable. I must put down the pen, the ipod, whatever, and walk away. Literally walk away.

But, but, but . . . I can deal with it if it's written down. It's just words. Words I can control. All the words are mine and they must obey me! . . . um, yeah, I'm obsessing. I can't control the world. I really want to, I really need to, I cannot just let things happen because who knows what will happen, but it will be bad, I promise you that. Here, I'll make a list of all the bad things that will happen if I loosen my grip just the tiniest bit.

Yeah, well, it can be done. I'm going to do it. It's just hard. I wonder if my knuckles are just permanently white at this point?

*Not the atheism, my beliefs about myself and other people and relationships.

**There is a reason I do not advocate "staying together for the kids". Speaking for at least some of the kids, no, we're not better off that way.

Well, We'll See How This Goes

That's how I used to feel about Meanboss. (He's the German Shepards, I'm the cat.)

Last week, I had a cognitive behavioral therapy breakthrough of sorts. Meanboss was going to Florida to visit family. Meanboss is absolutely convinced that the only thing stopping us from setting the building on fire and then hunting down and killing all the clients is his presence in the state. Consequently, he is completely insane the day before a trip. He is equally insane when he gets back.

So, there I am listening to him freak the fuck out on Lady Lawyer, practicing being calm. {breathe normally, his anger is not my problem, i am calm} It was working well enough, though I don't have any idea how to control my heart rate*. Then Meanboss smashed the handset of his phone down onto the base so hard the handset shattered- and I had a moment of perfect clarity.

I wasn't afraid, I was annoyed. I felt exactly the same way about his behavior as I do about a small child throwing a temper tantrum. It was absolutely ridiculous that this grown man was acting in a manner I wouldn't accept from a toddler. I wasn't panicking, I was embarrassed for him.

Then I realized something else. Meanboss is nicety nicenicenice in front of clients, which means that he knows this behavior is unacceptable and he is perfectly capable of controlling it. This increased my annoyance. Clearly, I am unworthy of controlled, sane behavior. I am unworthy, in his eyes, of the simple respect of politeness- something I extended to the drunk homeless man who barely missed puking on my shoes Friday night while I waiting for the bus**. ("Would you like a napkin to wipe your mouth?" He did.)

So, we'll see. Meanboss wasn't yelling directly at me, which made achieving perspective easier, but it was definitely a success. I've spent years having panic attacks every time Meanboss twitches, so it was a big success.

Meanboss comes back from his trip today, and his returns are usually worse than his leaving, so we'll see if one success begets more successes.

Calm, I am calm.

*I frequently have episodes of tachycardia anyway, so I'm good at ignoring it.

**Had he actually puked on my shoes, I'm not sure I would have been so polite. I'm not a saint.