My Second Therapy Session.

I’d like to write daily but sometimes I have so much in my mind if I were to write it down it wouldn’t make any sense.

I did my second therapy session yesterday. I went into it as my true authentic low energy self. The first session I put on so many fake smiles and tried to present myself in a way that would be more appealing for a first appearance. This time I wore my usually sweatshirt layered with a plaid jacket, my hair was in the same pony tail I slept in. The only thing I had ingested the past two days was iced coffee. A side of me I don’t allow any mental or physical health professional see.

I felt like shit after the session. My body ached all day from the stress of forcing my guard down to open up and talk about a sliver of the trauma I’ve endured. I’m glad that I stumbled upon this therapist though, she specializes in trauma therapy and helps you work through your trauma by using art as a way to express emotions. Especially ones that are hard for me to identify, which is any negative emotion.

She did a depression screening on me. Since I’m in a place in my life where I want to be better I told her the truth about everything, so of course I had a high rate of depression. Thankfully after talking to her about how I’ve been assessed for bipolar disorder but stopped showing up to the appointments because I didn’t want that diagnosis on my record, she ensured me that I show more signs of PTSD or CPTSD which can be mistaken for bipolar disorder. I’ll continue to be assessed for PTSD in the coming appointments.

What caused me to stress was what I said when she told me to reach out to her when I start having suicidal thoughts. My response was true but I know it makes her job a little harder, and I expressed that her.

The truth about reaching out to people when I’m in a deep depression I already know what they’re going to say. “I’m sorry you feel that way. You’re so great and your life is worth living. You’re family needs you around.” And any other cliche positive reassurance statement you can think of. After those words are said I’m still left feeling like a don’t belong here. Those words are exactly that, just words that hold no meaning to me, but the internal pain is physical.

Working in the healthcare industry for the past 10 years I have seen alot of death and cleaned alot of dead bodies. I know first hand that when someone dies everyone else’s life goes on and the pain from the grief will eventually dwindle away.

But yet here I am. Attending College, trying to set my future self up to be successful. Meanwhile present me continues to ask “what’s the point?”

I’ll tell you what I told my therapist yesterday, I’m not going to harm myself, but the thought does linger around. I pray that when my daughter is grown she doesn’t have to experience this internal chaos that I feel every morning the first moment I open my eyes. I just want to feel internal peace.