Dan's Therapy High
Dan’s Therapy High
All of the posters on the walls seem faded and old. They look like something out of a book that I’d have read as a child. “Cover Your Cough” or “Did You Wash Your Hands Today?” Time feels like it’s moving in slow motion. No, actually, it feels as if time is moving backwards. Memory tunnel! What is it with my highs and memories? No matter how low I go with my high I always end up in some sort of warped hypnosis where I spout out some of my best and worst memories. There must be something wrong somewhere deep in the subconscious of my brain; I just need to figure out what that is.
I’m starving, but I didn’t bring any snacks. Like I need one. I have TicTacs in my pocket so I pull them out and two by two suck off their sweet candy shell then crush them between my teeth letting an explosion of peppermint fill my mouth. I roll them over and over on my tongue letting them collide the balls on my tongue studs. I breathe in cold, minty air and I love it. It’s as if I’m breathing underwater. Everything feels so different.
It feels like I’m being watched. It’s as if they know that I’m high. You can see it in my eyes that there is something different. I feel like my eyes are glossed over so they should be. Right? RIGHT? I feel like I might scream. I eat all my TicTacs in 15 minutes. I should have known to savour what I have. A hush falls over me and I’m thinking about Helsinki, looking out into the harbour as the sunset in a late winter day. The waves of the sea were gentle and calm. A cruise ship remained docked and unmoving on one side of the harbour. I want to reach out and touch the frosty pinks that decorate the sky. It seems as if they’d be soft.
Someone’s left the door open. The cool air of spring comes and whisks the curls of my fringe off my face, leading me to remember the hike I went on at least 15 years ago. I climbed to the top of the summit and looked around. A pound stretched out for what seemed like ages below me. The entire foreground was covered in plantlike. Rich greens, oranges, reds, purples and blues poked out. Trees and flowers. Deer and rabbits. Everything just teeming with life. I want to go back. I need to go back these are the memories that will heal me, lessen the appearance of my scars. The wind catches the hair of a woman walking by and I’m overcome by her scent. It smells amazing. She smells like fruit snacks. My hunger bubbles in the base of my stomach. I want to know what the scent is. I need to know what she used…but by the time I wake from my trance, she’s gone and I’m left to bask in her lingering scent. Fuck.
What the hell is wrong with me?
....
It's a few minutes past 2 and she's not come out yet. We planned to meet at 2. I like to be on time, or even early. That's just the kind of person that I am. I'm nervous about time and to some degree, impressions. Hopes and dreams splash against her windows. It's making me melt. I want to lick the snowflakes and rain droplets that taste of candy floss and fresh strawberries.
When I get into the office, I unload. Everything. All the tension, all the hatred, the anxiety and the depression. I'm so high I'm able to laugh and smile as I tell her that I've hit a bad patch, nothing is remotely okay anymore and I don't know what I'm doing. I tell her about the exhaustion I feel, on every level. I like that I'm not bound by any social rules as my secrets dribble out of me. I know next week I'll have plenty more to say as I unload the stresses of my new second job and all that it holds for me.
I tell her about the disgust that I have for myself while laughing. I just can't control it. It all seems comical at the moment. <I'm laughing, I'm crying, it feels like I'm dying.> I'm spilling in ways I never had before. This is so much easier to do like this. I don't know if I broke a rule or something. I feel like I'm covered in pastel colours as I talk to her. I tell her everything that is on my mind, every thought that enters it, without any regard. I like this. I wish I could do this every session. If so, I might be able to get through things faster without my shame and anxiety about talking about things getting in the way. It may not seem like it, but I'm a shy person. Writing this blog like this, I'm pretty much faceless. You guys don't know me outside of this, the internet, and you most likely will not run into me IRL so it allows me a sort of freedom that I don't have in therapy. That's why I gave my therapist the blog link so that she can check in from time to time and see how things are if I'm having a hard time expressing myself in person.
I must have surprised her. I've never been so carefree with her. I feel like I'm walking on air. I wonder what she must have thought as we went through the session.
...
I don't mention that my thoughts of suicide have increased. I'm not actively trying to hurt myself or kill myself, but that feeling that is completely consuming and overwhelming is flowing through my veins. I want to scream it out loud, let everything out of me. I remember the feeling of my life ebbing away, how calm I felt. The relaxation, knowing that all the pain, the hurt and the worry would soon be over is unlike anything else.
I just want that calm, you know? That free feeling once again. I need it. I crave it.
You make me suicidal, but I'm not apologetic about the words that I say
....
It's a few minutes past 2 and she's not come out yet. We planned to meet at 2. I like to be on time, or even early. That's just the kind of person that I am. I'm nervous about time and to some degree, impressions. Hopes and dreams splash against her windows. It's making me melt. I want to lick the snowflakes and rain droplets that taste of candy floss and fresh strawberries.
When I get into the office, I unload. Everything. All the tension, all the hatred, the anxiety and the depression. I'm so high I'm able to laugh and smile as I tell her that I've hit a bad patch, nothing is remotely okay anymore and I don't know what I'm doing. I tell her about the exhaustion I feel, on every level. I like that I'm not bound by any social rules as my secrets dribble out of me. I know next week I'll have plenty more to say as I unload the stresses of my new second job and all that it holds for me.
I tell her about the disgust that I have for myself while laughing. I just can't control it. It all seems comical at the moment. <I'm laughing, I'm crying, it feels like I'm dying.> I'm spilling in ways I never had before. This is so much easier to do like this. I don't know if I broke a rule or something. I feel like I'm covered in pastel colours as I talk to her. I tell her everything that is on my mind, every thought that enters it, without any regard. I like this. I wish I could do this every session. If so, I might be able to get through things faster without my shame and anxiety about talking about things getting in the way. It may not seem like it, but I'm a shy person. Writing this blog like this, I'm pretty much faceless. You guys don't know me outside of this, the internet, and you most likely will not run into me IRL so it allows me a sort of freedom that I don't have in therapy. That's why I gave my therapist the blog link so that she can check in from time to time and see how things are if I'm having a hard time expressing myself in person.
I must have surprised her. I've never been so carefree with her. I feel like I'm walking on air. I wonder what she must have thought as we went through the session.
...
I don't mention that my thoughts of suicide have increased. I'm not actively trying to hurt myself or kill myself, but that feeling that is completely consuming and overwhelming is flowing through my veins. I want to scream it out loud, let everything out of me. I remember the feeling of my life ebbing away, how calm I felt. The relaxation, knowing that all the pain, the hurt and the worry would soon be over is unlike anything else.
I just want that calm, you know? That free feeling once again. I need it. I crave it.
You make me suicidal, but I'm not apologetic about the words that I say
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