I had my first counselling session yesterday, which was a getting to know you sort of session. No agenda, I was basically given time to babble away for an hour. Which I did. I’ve been trying to be direct – I hate the kind of talking around issues that I tend to do and was determined to cut through at least some of that. I think I was successful. We talked about a lot of the things that I feel I need to resolve: trying to understand my abuser and the truth or reality of the good and the bad stuff that happened; the cycle of abuse; coming to an understanding of what did happen; feeling comfortable with other people knowing what happened to me.
The last two parts are ones I do want to think about – I have a genuine Pandora’s Box, a lovely wooden chest with an envelope that has diaries, letters and photographs in it. I want/need/think I should revisit how I actually felt. So I’m going to open that box in the safe place that is counselling and go through some of the things in it. Eek. Well, that’s the plan anyway. I want to challenge myself. It’s been a long time and I’m sick of my life being affected by events that weren’t my fault and as far as I’m concerned should be relegated to the same rememberings as geography classes in Year 8. That is to say – never. Or rarely; I’ll take that.
My next appointment is next Monday (‘cos it’s weekly…) and so far it’s trashed my sleep this week. I feel pretty wrecked physically already and I’m worried about how this is all going to go. The thing is, there’s never going to be a good, convenient time to rip my psyche open and weep in it. It seems that I’ve chosen now to do so. I’m just going to have to suck it up and deal with it. That’s good; I hate bitching and whining (which is what it feels like I’ve doing.)