Therapy - And A Bit Of My Sanity
This may not surprise you to know, but I id go to a therapist when I was younger. I had a slew of problems. Kaiser was like a second home to me. I went there a lot because I was a fucking moron and always got myself injured or sick. From a burn wound I still feel ashamed of and rarely wear shorts because, to my idiot sisters leaving a needle on the carpet and thus getting surgery for in my knee.
I did grow up with a stammer. Which many thought was due to bullies or some shit. Which I wont say I didn't have a problem with, because I did. I was one of those frightened little kids. So at an early age I went to therapy. I'm pretty sure I repressed something, but hell if I know what it is. Just goes to show you that I repressed it well enough.
Now in my older age I feel like I want to go to therapy. Only I wish I could actually afford it.. and actually find a therapist I would be able to open up to. I tried. It was so ridiculous going to them for the explicit purpose of talking to them about things I feel bad about, and then when I would get there I would be completely unable of talking about it because some part of me would be like "No one wants to hear you complain" even though I was paying them for the sole purpose of me complaining. That is their job! I don't understand myself..
What ends up happening is that you just sit there for a while and then you just start lying through your teeth. Maybe if they're lucky you'll just talk about stuff that wasn't really what you wanted to talk about, which meant that we spent a lot of time talking about how I'm doing in school rather than how much I hate myself and felt so lacking of self worth because I'm a scumbag and a loser with no friends.
Last weekend I sort of lost it. I was pretty much broken and shattered -- much like the window that was shattered into pieces from some dumb fucks who were too drunk from a local party. The window laid in pieces on my floor for a couple of days, I have to admit to that. I wasn't prompt in picking up the pieces, but then again it was sort of a metaphor for life. . . at least my life at the moment.
Over the past 8 months I have been living on what could be called a sort of state of constant stress. I woke up to stress. Phone calls from people I didn't want to hear from or avoided at all cost. For a while my job dried up. There's no sugar coating it, I was living for the moment and putting my head between my legs and preparing for the next big hit. My sights couldn't see anything into next week, let alone next month. I was beyond stressed out and mentally collapsing. Which
I don't think I've ever been as emotionally or mentally beaten down as I am right now. I know, I should just hang in there. It will get better, I keep telling myself. At least I stopped saying "Things can't get worse". Mainly because when I said that, they somehow did. It was as if the universe heard me dare it to suck and suddenly it stepped up to the task.
So I don't know. Shit will get better. One day at a time and all that jazz. I'm sure that with it being spring cleaning, this cleansing of myself and all the shit in my life is probably a welcome thing and something I will be happy about come six months from now.