It’s another one of those
I’m going to tell you in a story explanations that you may have to get used to
if you’re going to be a regular reader (and I really hope you are!) In fact,
sign up, there’s a button right over there à
;-)
I started doing a NCFE Level
2 in Counselling Skills in September at my local college as a night class. I
was determined to try and get a bit of myself back and pick up some new skills
whilst I was at it. So, when we’d done the first week our teacher informed us
that part of our assessment was to complete weekly Reflection Journals. For
anyone who’s never written one it’s basically taking everything we’d been
discussing in the week and writing what you think about it and how it might be
relevant to your life. I quickly realised this was about to be my mortal enemy
as I was actually going to have to discuss my feelings with myself.
It’s something I have
mainly tried to avoid as it’s a bit like deliberately poking yourself in the
eye. Painful and makes you cry for a ridiculous amount of time afterwards. So I
did my usual glossing over it for the first week and this was acceptable as,
seemingly, we’d pretty much all struggled with it. However, we were urged to be
more personal. We were told that everything was utterly confidential and the
more personal we were the better. I tried to pretend that I was ok with this
when I was really dreading it. I found I couldn’t always find anything to write
about, I really hated it.
Then came my darkest
point, I was so low I could barely stay awake in the session. All the things
that I had been trying to put off where now (in some cases literally) knocking
at my door and I had to admit to myself that I really needed some help.
Cue a visit to the doctor (finally), which involved much weeping. I then had to
go through the start of quite a lot of meetings with the Citizens Advice Bureau
and then, by the next week, back to the docs again.
The upshot of all this was
that I was finally being listened to. I was finally admitting to how hard it’s
really been and that I needed people to support me and help me sort myself out.
There was also a skills
session at college where I started spilling my soul to one of my peers in our
practice sessions. She was so good about it and again made me feel less
abnormal than I thought I was.
And suddenly I knew what
to write in my Journals. I had found the courage to be real and the writing
just flowed. And the more I write, the more I explain, the better I’m feeling.
Yes, the Prozac I’m on is helping but I’m not mad keen on being long-term
medicated and need other coping mechanisms. I’ve been given enough to last me
up till April and then, hopefully, with the doctors’ help I’ll be able to start
weaning myself off them. 6 months on Prozac is enough, I feel.
So that’s where the blog
comes in. Getting responses to my writing is so helpful. I’m being supported
from all around the world just by people reading. It gives me another reason to
keep trying.
Most of all, the idea that
by being honest, open and truthful about where I am and what I’m feeling I
might be able to help someone else who is as lost as I was not even that long
ago is enough to drive me forward.
If you need to ask me
anything, please do. I’m happy to elaborate!
1 comment:
It's a rather surreal experience reading your blog, it's a side to you that I have never seen before. Having read through I admire you even more (enormously). It's not been a bad way to spend my afternoon reading! You are so strong, and I think it's amazing all of the things you do. :) X
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