“If I get it all down on paper, it’s no longer inside of me,
Threatening the life it belongs to… ” (Anna Nalick)
Today is a day when I’m quiet in my head, when the doubts and the shame I confessed yesterday in therapy aren’t beating so loud inside my head that I can’t hear anything else.
I remember her kindness, telling me that my self judgements were evident and suggesting that maybe I should treat myself with kindness and less self condemnation. I never realized how much therapy could help, like draining a cup of acid that you’re carefully balancing – one misstep and everyone will see and notice your mistake. On the days immediately after “confession”, I feel like my cup is less full and I can take a deep breath without that danger.
I wish I’d known before, that even with the small helps that I could ferret out, with the thoughts of killing myself comforting me every day and the knives carelessly scattered around my house, that there was someone, something out there that could take the heartbeats of hell and turn them into something I can look at and make sense of.
My psyche may be jagged pieces, but they’re my jagged pieces and I think maybe I’m learning how to fit them together. It says something that just that tiny bit of hope feels like I’m dooming myself, the same way I’ll never make a wish because it’s just known – wishes I make do not come true.