Danyul Goes To Therapy: The Emergency Session

The last time that I met with Hermonie, we touched on the cutting but I never told her how much it was or how it's been controlling my life for about the past three weeks. The crushing need to do it every day, push myself a little further each time. That every time I see the colour red I become aroused thinking about the cuts. I didn't plan on things turning out this way, they just sort of happened. Who actually sits down and plans all this shit out anyway? 

I had a session planned for a week after I saw her, but I couldn't make the week. I knew I just couldn't. Thankfully, she had some time and could see me before our scheduled appointment. Per usual, shit for me went wrong but the shorter session was a teeny bit of help that I needed. I was thankful that she found time for me and was even more thankful that my mate stood up for me and put this all into the works for me. 

I didn't have to wait long for her when I got in. She opened the door and I shuffled through, bracing against the doorframe. Upon laying eyes on her I just wanted to clam out. I'd been the one to move the schedule and yet when I got there I didn't walk to talk. I felt dirty and small. "What can I help you with today, Dan?" So casual. As if my life wasn't hanging by threads. "I need help, some kind of support. I can't keep myself together. I need something to help keep me going." She frowns for a second. "Well, there is a community support programme we could enrol you in." I'm getting angry. I've asked about disability twice. Weeks have fucking past. Almost a month. I really don't a flying fuck about the community programme, I want the money to help to pay some of the bills that are piling up and only adding to my stress. How many fucking ways do I have to spell it out? I keep my phoney smile plastered in place. "Sure, let's start the paperwork." I know that playing nice will help move things along. I feel the stress building behind my eyes. It feels like I'm being fucking ignored. Perhaps, I'm jumping the gun here since she's been nice before. Jessica's angry voice pops into the back of my head. "You only want to find fault with her because she's a woman." I swat her away in my head. I don't need that kind of bullshit. "You just don't want to be here is more of the problem." Thank you thoughts coming out in Jessica's voice.  I need to release the pressure before I explode. I need the relief.

We go over some of the aspects of the at-home help, the community service project. I hope I don't get paired up with some dickhead. I want someone I can vibe with, who won't fight me. I know that I'll probably be grumpy the first few encounters, having to show my beloved sanctum with a stranger. Very few people are allowed deep inside the layer and it won't be some community worker who's a stranger. Stranger Danger after all. Oi, speaking of that concept "stranger danger" I was taught that in school but never really used it in my daily life. I weigh the pros and cons and make a choice, but I don't fear all strangers. Most of the time they don't want to hurt you- impressive to hear that coming from a cynic like me. 

"Dan? You okay?" She's finished filling out the paperwork. I shake my head. "Yeah, I'm good, wait no." "Do you have a question about the paperwork?" "No, I have another problem. I've been having this breaks." "Breaks?" "Yeah, where my mind just wanders and it's always back to childhood memories. They can be triggered by sight, sound, smell, taste, touch-any of the senses, sometimes even word associations or colour associations." "Woah." Well, that doesn't sound all too promising, but I continue on. "They're not bad memories. They're not flashbacks into episodes of trauma, but they're memories of better time usually. Bright, sunny, happy memories. It's like my mind is trying to scape the reality, so its choosing to travel back, to try to recall what happiness felt like. It's trying to fight the tide in the only way that it knows how. Some of the memories aren't good, they're dark and unsettling, but I think I'm going back to those moments for a reason. My subconscious obviously wants me to see them, it's up to me to make sense of the images, colours and the feelings I felt at that time that are being re-created. It's been happening more and more lately." "That's interesting. Keep a log of those, the memories and times, what you felt, everything and we can talk about them next session since we're pretty much out of time." "Okay."

I lean back, almost exhausted. I can't believe I've mentioned this. Another first for this woman. She's stealing my cherries left and right. She's treading where no therapist has gone before. Is this a wise idea? I need to find the happy medium between secret and confession. I'm playing fast and hard with my freedom here. I'm fighting for my life in more ways than one. Some may not see it that way, but I do. I worry about incarceration again. I managed to get myself out of it after short periods, but the horrors of those holding chambers, the mind-numbing isolation and how you're alone with nothing but your thoughts with no way to express them is just plain abuse. They should be doing this with terrorists, not people who want to kill themselves to escape agony. It only magnifies the feelings, as the feelings and ideas are left to build up.

I don't even know how to tell her about all the other shit that's swirling through my head.  I'm grateful that I said that last bit and we ran out of time. She informs me of the date and time of my next session and I scribble it down in my day planner. I nod to her and tell her I'll see her in a little over a week. I'm not happy with having to wait that long, but its the only thing available. I think I should have a bit more, what's the word.....more of a priority put on me. I'm not saying that I'm more important than some neurotic football mum, okay maybe I am, but she's kinda not about to fall off the end of her world now is she? The grass stains won't kill her. My consuming self-hatred will kill me.

**After the day that I had yesterday, I'm so glad that I have a therapy session tomorrow. I don't know how I'm going to be handling everything that's upcoming in my life. Death and legal battles consume me. And I didn't even do anything; I've just been pushed into this, once again, against my will.**