I want nothing more than to blog, the way I always have. But I’m so restricted in what I can say, it makes things so difficult, I can’t write freely, for the first time since…well, ever. I don’t like it. I have written posts about it, more vague posts, but I don’t feel safe in posting them. Not yet. Which is why it seems that I’ve been very very quiet.
The honest sum of things, is that I’m not coping very well right now. I’m continuing with my day to day activities, keeping busy, exercising, all of that stuff. Appearing pretty normal. As long as I keep pushing everything to the back of my mind, I’m okay. The second I’m alone, it changes. I headed over to a therapist last week, just because I felt like I needed a second opinion on my mental health, and I didn’t much fancy opting straight for medication again after only just coming off of the last lot. (And doing so freaking well ffs…) She was…nice. I guess. Sometimes the way therapists talk annoys me. All soft approach. Trying to appeal to your better nature.
It was a reasonably useful session. Her (professional) opinion is that I’m traumatized by recent events. As a result of the trauma, I’m dissociating from the entire situation to protect myself, and enable myself to function. I’m relating to it like a book or a film, not like it’s actually happening to me. I can talk about it with a deadpan face, I can speak and answer questions and relate events without crying or crumpling up into the fetal position. As most people in my position would.
She wants me to keep going back, have regular sessions, but I’m not sure. Therapy is a funny thing, and it’s only effective with the right relationship. I don’t think I want to see her again, and with the added cost of her sessions (which is insanely expensive), I don’t think I could for very long anyway even if I did want to, not if I’m gonna be purchasing a car asap. And going to America soon…
I need to find an alternative.
I’ve always had the fantastic ability to heal my own mind, even if it takes a little time. I can usually sift things through and sort them out, even if it’s grain by tiny grain. This feels more like having to lift boulders and throw them to the other side of the room. Maybe I do need some help. I suppose it takes strength to admit that.