Friday, August 16, 2019
I Just Want to Talk About Stuff
I remember the first time I considered going to a counsellor, I must have been, in what, secondary school? When the first signs of self-loathing and self-harm surfaced, I was barely awake. Emotions I never knew would suddenly take over me, as would the sudden need to pry my skin open with the dull-ass blade of my nail clipper, and just as suddenly I would wake up to broken, bleeding skin on my left wrist, and I would expertly take out my alcohol swabs ever so calmly, clean my wounds before washing them and then slapping on skin coloured plasters, before finally piling on wrist bands after wrist bands to cover them up.
I remember I would tell myself, These scars are nothing compared to the pain that put them there... As if to comfort myself. As if to justify these acts - which I slowly realized only left me feeling shittier than before.
And yet, all those times I had a breakdown, I could never bring myself to ask for help. I couldn't even talk about it. Shame, and guilt... Sadness and the anger... Utterly shameful. How could I, a doctor's daughter, be so mentally ill that I needed mental health attention? And I would go on to struggle with this alone, and eventually finding Yoga and purpose in other larger-than-myself causes. If I could focus on saving others, then maybe one day I could save myself.
On 15 August 2019, I finally plucked the courage to meet a counsellor. It took me 15 years to do it. 15 years of shame, guilt, self-hate and sadness. There was a part of me that was yearning to be "cured" after one session. But the truth is, now I am just overwhelmed with a darkness and loneliness that feels all too familiar. I cannot function properly. For some reason, I thought it was wise to book myself a 90 minutes session, which meant 90 freaking minutes of outpouring and sharing. Too much. Now I know, that is just too much for me. Too many memories revisited, too much shame and too many cans of worms reopened. But these were all part of me. I know I have a lot more to work on... I still hate myself, but I also love myself a little more now. And I know that things can get better.
"So these are the things that we can possibly work on..."
So I am just something to be fixed?
"The things, Leandra. Not you. The things are not you."
I am not defined by these things.
``larcenciel
Music: Nobody compares to you - Gryffin
Mood: Sorrowful
10:33 PM
larcenciel
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