Another Day, A New Therapist

Journal Entry - August 11, 2023

The past month has been a whirlwind of emotions as I made the decision to return to therapy. Despite my fondness for the therapeutic process, I find myself grappling with an overwhelming sense of fear and apprehension. Every aspect of therapy frightens me to my core.

The thought of another person not believing my truth, of exposing my wounds and vulnerabilities only to be left alone with the shattered pieces until the next session, fills me with dread. What will they think of me when I bare my deepest fears and thoughts? The silence that follows, after inadvertently allowing my pain to seep through, is the most terrifying of all. It's in those moments that I'm consumed by self-loathing, as tears stream down my face, feeling every bit alone in my struggle.

Despite the convenience of virtual sessions via Zoom, the fear of being seen losing myself through the pixelated screen weighs heavily on my mind. The silence that follows, with its deafening resonance, leaves me internally panicking, questioning if I'm expected to speak or if disappointment or pity is reflected in my therapist's eyes.

And yet, amidst the chaos of my thoughts, I fight to stay present, reminding myself to exhale the fear and inhale the now. But it's a relentless battle against the doubts that flood my mind like an endless night at sea. Even when my therapist asks how he can help, it feels like a dagger plunging deeper into my already wounded psyche.

In those moments, all I crave is peace and acceptance, to exist without the weight of expectations and guilt. I muster the strength to simply ask for a moment to cry, to release the pent-up emotions that threaten to consume me. And when the session ends, I find solace in the comfort of knowing that nobody will witness my unraveling, as I sob uncontrollably, hidden from view.

But as I wipe away the tears and piece myself back together, I'm left grappling with questions of identity and purpose. Who am I? What are my core beliefs? The exercise, meant to be simple, feels like a minefield of lies and self-doubt, reminding me of all that I want to accomplish yet revealing the areas where I need to improve.

In moments of despair, I find myself questioning if I can continue with therapy. The fear of being an unreliable narrator in my own life, coupled with the uncertainty of where I stand with my therapist, leaves me feeling adrift and alone. The struggle to maintain my vibrant self in therapy feels insurmountable, as I teeter on the verge of shutting down with each visit.

And then there's the constant tug of war with my past, the relentless need for validation from those who have hurt me. It's a painful reminder of all that I've endured, of the scars that run deep within me.

As I pour out my thoughts onto these pages, I find a semblance of clarity amidst the chaos. Therapy may be challenging, but it's also a journey towards healing and self-discovery. And though the road may be rocky, I know that with time and perseverance, I will emerge stronger, more resilient than before.

But for now, I'll allow myself to wallow in self-pity for a little longer, before wiping away the tears and holding the pieces that are slowly falling apart. It's a journey of self-compassion and acceptance, one that I'm learning to navigate with each passing day.