Sometimes it’s hard after therapy, to step back into real life. Sometimes it’s hard after writing in my journal, to step back into real life. Sometimes it’s hard to realise that in the space of five minutes or twenty, I’ve just backstabbed, flipped over and shot down beliefs I’ve carried my entire life. Just like that. Just like freakin’ that. It blows my mind. So real life just feels ridiculous. “I’ve just changed my life here!” I wanna yell at everyone. I wanna tell people I saw an hour and a half ago, that I’m not the same person they saw an hour and a half ago. Other times I just wanna grieve and cry or dance and rage or simply just hate. But even in those times, my mind is slightly blown. It’s just uncomfortably so.
Sometimes after therapy – like right now – my head feels like it’s going to explode with stuff I’ve just learnt and am needing to digest. I’ve run out of paper in my journal to jot down everything said, everything learnt, everything discovered, so I squeezed a bunch of stuff onto three quarters of a page and now am left with it spinning in my head. But mainly, my body feels desperately in need of drastic attention and rest, so I’ll sleep on it instead. I want to write every single word down of what I discovered and shared, and what was shared back. What was learnt, what was explained, what was taught and what was read. But I get overwhelmed when I think of doing it or even try to begin. There’s just too much. And I always want to do it properly – I think that’s where I trip myself up. Tonight though, I ain’t got no paper so I’ll take that as a hint.
I want to just lie here and replay the things that were said. (This is when I wish I recorded my sessions.) But y’know what the main feeling, and thing, I want to replay is? The feeling of being loved. And the feeling of constantly discovering a healthy relationship, and reprogramming/switching the models that were labelled as mine. Replacing abuse with love. Reprogramming parenting in myself with the love and support and teaching of a safe other.
I still wish my brain could write out all that I just learnt, but I’m kinda just letting it do it’s thing. Just because I can’t record it, doesn’t mean it didn’t go in. And won’t continue to.
It’s pretty fucking cool, therapy. Never did I think I’d say that, but it’s true.
(It’s also fucking shit, but that goes without saying.)