hat’s exactly why I was unable to talk to my therapist at all. I have extreme difficulty saying anything of an emotional nature to anyone, especially concerning myself. So I was literally unable to discuss any issues bothering me with my therapist because I thought that “self pity” didn’t match my manufactured macho image of myself that has no feelings and laughs at death, and so on.
And then also because people tell me it’s unlike me to feel self pity, then I feel even worse if I have anything resembling an emotion because apparently I am not allowed to; it doesn’t fit my image. So then I clam up and become the most fucked up, sexually repressed, emotionally constipated person I’ve ever encountered, and they’ll be all like “you can talk to me.” No, I fucking cannot. Apparently, I can’t talk to anyone. All I can I do is deny and repress to keep up my image. (The author Sam Keen called this “character armor,” if I recall correctly, and seemed to think it only applied to men.)
What I have concluded is that no one at all even gives a fuck about me or cares whether I live or die.
Everyone ignores me unless I complain or seem unhappy, and then I just get the message everyone wants me to shut the fuck up and not bother them.