It’s complicated, and I’m having trouble finding that fine line between TMI and sufficient detail to get my point across. Here’s what I have so far:
It’s not really my instincts, it’s my behavior that is the source of the problem here, and it’s not something I can explain: I’m disorganized and unreliable, and I know it doesn’t sound like much, but I can’t stop being disorganized and unreliable. I can’t stop forgetting things and losing things and dropping things, and I can’t get anyone to believe that I have a problem and I need help. Friends, family and all insist that it’s part of my charm, they forget stuff sometimes too (seven appointments in a row? And that was just March and April this year), that I must have had perfectly good reasons for dropping out of college six times (for example), or ditching them when they were counting on me for something (for another example) or they make suggestions that are basically just more politely-worded versions of “just get over it.” I could tell you 36 years’ worth of stories of hurt and humiliation and mistakes with consequences that persist to this day, mistakes I’m still making because I don’t know how to stop being this way. You might think that if it were important enough to me I would change, but truly, I have suffered for this. I haven’t stopped, though. No matter what’s at stake, I can’t remember to do the same thing at the same time every day/week/whatever.
So Ignatz’s whole future apparently hangs on his being successful in school. And his being successful in school, according to la therapist, hangs on me checking his homework every day – something I have repeatedly demonstrated that I can’t do. And the thing I keep trying to convey is that yes I am trying and I will continue to try, but I’m failing. It’s the only thing I’m doing consistently, failing. Her answer? “But he needs it.”
Excuse me, but fucking duh. I have always known that kids need consistency. I have tried to supply it, but never succeeded. And if it’s really that important, maybe we should be looking for other options, because you know, I may not get this right in the six years we have left before he moves out (or the two years we have left before he flunks out). I told her this. What she heard? “Fiddle-dee-dee, I can’t be bothered to try, it’s just the way I am, la-la!” Apparently “I have been struggling with this for my whole life” really means “I don’t care.”
I have said before that therapy in German is really hard for me, because there are shades of meaning that I can’t express. I just don’t have the vocabulary, don’t really get the little connotative differences between synonyms. She says oh no, I’m doing just fine, she understands me very well, and then the stuff she spouts back at me indicates very clearly that I have failed to get my point across. In short: she doesn’t understand, but she thinks she does. This is not good.
I don’t know. I keep trying. I keep failing. I don’t know why. I understand that this is my fault, but I don’t know what to do.
Melodramatic song du jour: Valentine Lost, by Eiríkur Hauksson.