Tuesday, 9 January 2018

I went to therapy.


It's 7am and I couldn't sleep again. So I'm writing this in the bath, my laptop balanced on one of those tray things that hold your wine bottle. (Perhaps not built for wine specifically but it's how I use it.) My first thought was, 'this could slip super easily and electrocute me.' My second thought was, 'I don't really care.' And that, combined with my pathetically morbid New Year Resolutions list is why I went to therapy yesterday. 


Things that did not happen in therapy:

I did not lay on a couch and gaze at the ceiling whilst I spoke
Nobody tried to hypnotize me
I did not - despite wanting to - cry
My therapist did not cry
I did not get presented with a straight-jacket
I did not feel it was money wasted
I did not see a box of tissues, hourglass or one of those metal ticker things which I sort of expected


Things that did happen in therapy:

I sweat profusely
I made several awkward jokes to try to lighten the mood
I signed a confidentiality contract so I know that my therapist won't blog about this, even if I do
When asked about my relationship, I realised that actually, it's pretty perfect
When asked about every other aspect of my life I realised it's total bullshit
I got so uncomfortable my asthma flared up so I had to take a minute to pant like a dog
I left feeling okay, and actually kind of looking forward to my next session


Baby steps, ma cherie.
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