Another Day In Suburban Paradise

Tuesday night was the Florence + the Machine concert, which was a hugely cathartic event that I absolutely needed. On the way home from the show it dawned on me that in some ways FOR ME, F+tM are more "grown-up" catharsis music that better fills the Emilie Autumn slot. EA is (apparently) the music of "welp, time to fall apart for a bit", whereas F+tM are "I feel a little fragile and stressed, but not quite Pete Wentz lyrics levels". 

Anyhoodle, I learned that the songs "Everybody Scream", "Sympathy Magic", and "Free" in concert make me cry. I expected that of the first two, but not of Free. Links to lyrics provided in case folks want to guess which parts hit me hard, because my psyche is not subtle.

One of the reasons that I absolutely needed the catharsis: Tuesday is therapy day, which I remembered two minutes before my appointment. My awesome therapist and I were talking about the deep rooted belief from my childhood in which I need to do everything perfectly for everyone, because that's how I'm worthy of affection and love. Y'know, a normal way of thinking. This somehow led to me telling her some of the family jokes from my childhood: I was picked up from the second-hand children's store but they lost the receipt and couldn't return me; how when I was around eleven Dad joked that one of his very rich Arab customers wanted to buy me as a bride but Dad was holding out for more camels; and the classic I didn't know my real middle name until I applied for my driver's permit because my parents committed to the bit of substituting "Veg-o-Matic" for my real middle name.

My therapist stared at me in a horrified manner, and then said, "Those aren't funny". Upon discussion and deep reflection, I agree, because the first two reinforced that programming of I need to be useful and helpful to be loved, and the third kinda-sorta did the same because 1) it was a "joke" at the expense of who I thought I was, and 2) saying my middle name was the name of an appliance? See the first two jokes. 

My therapist agreed that my parents weren't deliberately doing those things, that they did think they were jokes, and would be upset if they realized the cumulative effect they had on me. But damn, that was a difficult session. No wonder I cried at "I find no worthiness in virtue / I no longer try to be good / they didn't keep me safe / like you told me that it would".