Today is the day I return to therapy. It also signifies the day I start putting my morning pages onto my blog instead of into a notebook.
I feel like an utter failure for needing to return to therapy, especially after just a few short months.
I resent the fact I may well play the role of patient my entire life and foot the bill for the abusive and shitty behaviour of others; especially those who elected to bring me into the world.
I know I should not feel this way but I do. I’m not ashamed as such but annoyed that I couldn’t function without a special little room where I literally offload my crap onto a stranger. That makes me feel low. I mean think about that. Therapy is literally a place where we indulge ourselves in our negative states of mind and say we do it to get better. How does reflecting on past trauma make us a more positive person?
I initially set the intention to return just to deal with my phobia and my phobia only and then the stuff about the kids came out, in a emotionally violent way that hurt me maximally. In that moment I knew I had been avoiding more than just a phobia.
I don’t know what the next few months mean. Therapy may be such a success I can leave for good. Or maybe it will just become another part of me and I will have to work on accepting that fate.