I haven’t been here in a while. I thought I had my shit together. It’s amazing how much you need someone to help you get back on track.
My therapist is amazing. Amazing.
I can be myself around her. She gets me. It’s like she’s lived inside my head and can sift through the twists and turns of my psyche.
I need to be back here. I’m starting to fall off the “I’m strong now. I can handle this” wagon.
I felt a lot of rage today. Stbex. His whore. The problems. The death of a vision I once had.
It’s all sad to me again. As I am sitting here in her waiting room, I could cry all over again.
I need her to clean out the gunk and messed up shit that’s floating around my brain. Heal the battle wounds, patch up my lacerations, give me a good dose of medicine (aka reality check) and send me on my way.
I’ll be back again next week. And probably the week after that.
And so my life goes on. One day at a time. But these past few days have felt like I’m walking in a battlefield and no guns are dropped. The bullets keep flying and I have no where to go except through them.