CBT Time

My newest therapy is Cognitive-Behavioral. It’ll be my second group at CAMH, after one exploring aspects of substance use and addiction.

I have a pretty healthy appetite for therapies and have all my life. To me, one of the key values is that each therapy provides a unique way of learning, and a fresh way to approach a challenge. So I’ve experienced many varieties of treatments and regimens, from individual psycho therapy, to daily journaling, Vipassana meditation, to the Landmark Forum, morning pages, several types of formal and informal groups, and Yang style Tai Chi, all 103 positions, practiced every morning for a few seasons, on the 8th floor deck, right outside my apartment in downtown Toronto.

My enrollment in this latest group is all about my failures to manage myself well, and especially, the gross ways that I abuse and waste time. The diagnosis from my initial assessment was depression. That was a surprise. Though I’ve worked on the front line of the social services for decades, and with many depressed clients, never did I think to apply that term to myself.

I’ve only got my toe in so far, but I’ve begun a form of self-monitoring: scoring each hour of my day according with how ‘depressed’ I am. And as is inevitable, such self-monitoring has high-lit some aspects of myself that I hadn’t paid attention to. It’s brought a perspective on self from a slightly tilted angle.

I don’t suppose that it’s directly related, but I’ve also been dreaming. That is, I’m paying more attention to my dreams, being consciously aware of the flavors of my wakening. What is it I’ve just stepped out of? What was I in the middle of doing, of feeling? Who was with me? It’s been ever since listening to a recent Fresh Air episode about dreams. Not nearly so intent on mining and remembering as I was more than thirty years ago, when I kept a dream journal. These days, I simply shift my awareness backward a bit, to whatever gave rise to the moment. And there’s always dream stuff lying there, something otherworldly, but at the same time deeply private and intimate. 

This morning, an old love who is now deceased was there. We were trying to get something done, so our attention wasn’t on each other. But she was a very solid presence in the dream, just as she always was in life. And inside the dream, there was a tiny bit of unconscious awareness, that she couldn’t really be there, which made it more special to be with her. Just that tiny bit of extra awareness, as from a dream.