*dusts off blog*
It certainly has been a while, WordPress. I’m sorry for my abrupt disappearance. I seem to have been whipped into a busy whirlwind of group, therapy, a Vegas trip, more therapy…
I sat down at my keyboard more than once, cracking my fingers, ready to pound away at the keys. However, each sentence I wrote was dull and pointless. So, I took a break from writing. Writer’s block? Not sure.
You didn’t miss much. I stopped going to group therapy when I dropped from 5 days/week to 3 days/week. It just wasn’t worth it anymore. The therapist was terrible, the people in the new groups were terribly arrogant and unhelpful. Not too mention my (dangerous) new friendship with some heroin dealers in the Chemical Dependency track. I packed up my figurative suitcase and ran for safety. Ironically, I ran in the opposite direction of the mental hospital.
Since then, I’ve managed to keep myself preoccupied by organizing my house, doing yoga in the morning, reading, and binge watching Skins (UK). I’ve been feeling my mood pick up and I have crawled out of the chasm of desparity…
I have a therapy session in one hour- although I feel I have nothing to say. Last night, I crawled up into a small, sad knot and cried, threw up, spewed more memories of sexual trauma. I’m sure it hurt then, in the moment. However, I feel nothing now. I am a vacuous shadow of factual histories of my own childhood. I am a museum of trauma. The displays are all there, propped up on sticks. Some of them are even interactive. Go ahead, press the button.
I feel nothing.
Back in Scientology, this would be considered a good thing- this apathy. It would mean that I have uncovered my monsters and am no longer scared of them.
Yet, I am so terrified I am numb.