So I’m back to writing the morning journals again. Good! I deserve to express myself and write down my feelings without fear of what the world thinks because one shitty doctor took advantage of my trust. It has helped me to heal myself and understand my confusing thoughts. Many revelations come from this process.
I need a place to release and I think my therapy might be coming to an end and so that support system gone.
Therapy isn’t a problem; I find it really helpful but what is problematic is the location. But I can’t just restart therapy in my new town. It’s not that simple for various reasons.
Getting on the train isn’t even the source of my anxiety but my old hometown is.
There are aggressive and monstrous people I don’t wish to see, places I can’t bare to toe and memories better best forgotten. I don’t want to be walking through the middle of it all to get to a place that does actually bring up major traumas for me.
I feel unsafe letting go in therapy as a result of needing to survive the journey home again.
The last two sessions went badly. I dissociated big time. I didn’t speak or interact I just sat there suspended in some other state of consciousness and it was unpleasant.
That tells me that therapy has now become a destructive habit and coping mechanisms as oppose to the helpful relief I desire. I can’t carry on exposing myself to something that is not longer tackling my anxiety but shutting me down instead.
Another crossroads has been reached.
It seems the road to recovery is most certainly not linear but sending me left and right and every turn. Th maze has no middle and the road has no end, I’m just juddering around in here like a Pac-Man game glitch.