Mondays should be a good day, the smallest one goes to nursery, the bigger 2 to school. Mr off to work. Me home alone - to catch up on rubbish telly or cook nutritious meals, to wash and to iron, but in the luxury of quiet. But that is not what Monday holds for me. Monday is therapy day. No one in the whole wide world, except Mr, knows that I am in therapy. Yes, she who looks after other people's children for a living, she who is a governor in a good school, she who presents a well groomed, calm appearance, she is in therapy. She has issues.
These issues are long standing and very deep rooted. I don't think they'll ever go away really. I have lost count of how many therapists I have seen over the years, all with their different ideologies and preconceptions. There was the one who didn't speak - who would let me sit in silence, for a whole session, then let me leave. The one, who when I said I didn't like the chairs, brought gym mats in for us to sit on. The one who would take me out to the garden so that he could have a fag while we talked. The person I am currently seeing is a nice lady. We are at the very beginning of our relationship. I suppose before telling someone your deepest darkest thoughts, you have to develop some sort of rapport with them. It amazes me that in a therapeutic situation that there is an assumption that you will *dive straight in with the good stuff* For me, the stuff that I need to share, has never left my head, so I am hardly going to shake a new persons hand, sit down and start right in.
We started today looking at some notes I had written. I find it very difficult to initiate a conversation about myself, so I fill in some sheets - I describe situations, rate my anxiety levels and note down my thoughts, reactions, responses. We then look at them. I do wonder if it will change anything. Will a conversation about how I can not cope with my children, how I feel I am a failure as a person, will it really take away my deep rooted loathing of myself - I don't think so to be honest. I have support from the CMHT, and it is part of my treatment that I attend. So Monday comes round, and everyone heads off to their business and I try and sort out my head. My mood is very low at the moment, I feel sad, on the edge of tears a lot of the time. My sleep is very disturbed, nights are long and dark, filled with thoughts of self harm and the self loathing that is never far away. I have to keep a sleep diary this week. I wonder if it will throw up any surprises?
I must now stop thinking about myself. I must put on my mask of normality. I must smile. Come on girl, SMILE.
