Taking a break

I’m having a break from counselling. I needed it. So much to take on board, so much to process-my mind was in danger of exploding. Either that or just giving up.

And it has been good. I’ve been able to think about all the other day to day stuff that needs sorting. And it’s allowed me to begin to think of a way forward and a future. I’d started to wonder if I had one, desspite people telling me how much potential I have. I still don’t quite believe or see it. But at least I know that this is the bad place talking. There is a good place, it just doesn’t get to be heard all that often.

The thing is. I miss counselling now. That feels weird. I miss being able to speak to someone witbout any filtering. I miss being able to be completely honest. And that came to me last night. I was reading a book. And I had to stop. It was making me sob. The content is probably innocuous to most people but for me it stirred far too many memories-one’s that right now feel too fresh for comfort.

I’m hovering in between the old me-the denial and coping me-and the newer version. The one who realises that confronting and addressing issues is the only way to move on. It’s a tricky spot to find yourself in.

I would love not to have flashes or triggers that bring back gut wrenching sadness, fear and self loathing in equal measure. I would absolutely love to be able to close the pages of that book, and leave it alone. But I can’t. Those pages are my pages. The book doesn’t stay closed for very long before a page of sadness opens up again.

What I’m trying to figure out now is how to make those pages sit comfortably alongside the rest of the story. And whether it is possible to take the narrative off on a different journey to the one I’ve been travelling so far. I guesss anything is possible. There are blank pages waiting to be written. I’m tryng hard to make sure they are written in my voice. I hope I can do it.

I think I still need help to navigate through though. So after this break, I’ll be asking for more counselling. It doesn’t make me feel all that great admitting that but I can’t honestly say that it’s all good and I’m good. I know there’s 30 years worth of denial and hurting to wade through yet. This story of mine is set to be quite a volume.