The longer it goes on the easier it is to just let it go on. Why do I write? And for whom? For my future self, I’ve sometimes said. But then why publish the posts? But then why not? Why do I fear judgement so much? And whose judgement is it that I’m fearing? These are the questions I’ve been asking myself.

I had therapy yesterday. She’s going to try to see me weekly when she can, because she says she knows there’s a lot going on at the moment. She’s booked four appointments in advance so I am in her diary. I like this, it gives me a feeling of security.

She said again that she’s happy to talk to any part, but that she won’t keep secrets. A part came out, you see, right at the end of the session before, so she checked that I knew about that.

There’s been more faffing about with letters.  I promised that I would let her read the next set of letters, and also let her talk about them. But she said it was all ok, whatever helped me, that was the point.

Mostly we talked about my recent visit to my family. Stage sets, plays, parts walled off from awareness. I told her that when I’m there it’s as though the difficult times are something I am making up. I asked her if I could be making it up, the first time I’ve dared to ask her that. She said no. That felt important.

She asked what I would say to the part that’s walled off when I’m with my family. I said just that it was ok, and I would listen.

Because I will. I am. At any rate, I’m trying. Things are changing in my life, in more ways than one.

Not much of a post. A few notes more than anything. But I have broken the silence. Maybe now I can start to speak again.

 

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