Thoughts That Weigh Me Down

My therapy session this week didn’t start off all that well. The uniform that my work had ordered for me had sleeves that halted before my wrists. I felt humiliated and disgusting; some of my scars were on show.

After my shift I went to get food as it was coming up to 3pm and I hadn’t eaten all day. I chose a very nice, fragrant Mediterranean vegetable pasty. I brought that back up only ten minutes before the session started.

I shouted at her (my psychologist) and I feel guilty about that. I feel guilty about throwing up in a public toilet, something that I haven’t done for years. I also feel guilty about allowing myself to be so self-absorbed and self-indulgent when it come to these therapy sessions. I am scared that after only four sessions, I am too attached to her.

She is of a similar age to my mum who is no longer present in my life. I want her to give me a hug. I want her to tell me that I am not just another whiney brat who should stop clinging on to their teenage angst. I want her to be able to just step inside my head so that my emotions and reality aren’t lost in my translation of them into words.

I hate that I only see her every seven days. I also hate how she has made it impossible for me to write a journal for this week. She made me talk about things that I don’t talk about when I am sober and made me question my own perception of my past and present. How could I have been so stupid to allow someone to affect so me much? I have made myself vulnerable to her and I don’t like it.

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