It occurred to me today that I have taken therapy for my lows in a thousand ways. Good ways and definitely not good ways. One good way...talking to a counsellor. One bad way...regularly drinking enough to let my shoulders come down from my ears and enter the world of squint decisions. Both of these were cathartic in that both left me with a line drawn in the sand from which I felt I could move forward. Both involved crying. Both involved feeling shameful. Both made me embarrassed.
After trying assorted avenues, I took my bag of rainy day money (everyday was raining, you can't spend it if you're dead) and gave it to a trainer. I don't trust easily and I don't make friends easily. He was easy to trust and he has become a friend. He made me do stuff I'd never do, 3 times a week. He believed I could do it and wouldn't accept less than full commitment. He threw me up wall bars and exercised with me when he could see I was ready to quit. He was like an iron man and gave me his discipline when I had none. He could see when I had little to give and did yoga with me instead of weights. He sat down and gave me his full attention when I cried. And yes I did cry and I stopped feeling ashamed of it. I stopped feeling ashamed of my depression. I can now use the word, in writing if not in voice.
It has been the best therapy I have ever given myself. He's leaving the country and I am not sure if I will move on to someone new. My granny would say "they broke the mould when they made him". I will miss him. (I will never miss chin ups!) He gave me self-belief and for that I will be forever grateful. Thank you my friend.
Is it time you looked at your therapies? Are you applying the right balm? And are you putting it on the right place?
The room above the garage.
A Moodscope member.
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