Want To Be My Therapist For a Moment?

Want To Be My Therapist For a Moment?

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Is there anything better than being called out on still needing approval or apologies from family in your 40’s

This post will probably never see the light of the day but if in a fit of melodrama I hit publish please do me the kindness of remembering I live in the US and dealing with my mental health would cost up to $200 an hour. So this blog, my therapy. You are welcome and hey if it helps you feel less alone so happy to help. If it makes you laugh and feel superior you are welcome. If you feel the need to tell me how superior you are well lets just say we are either best friends and you get to say such things or you will be hurting a middle age woman’s feelings. I know, tempting isn’t it?

It has been a rough fucked up beautiful day. But I was confronted. Why does this still hurt you? Why are you still mad? You were a kid. You seem to understand their motivation, why does this still affect you?

SO here is the really ugly truth if this one hasn’t already smacked you on your ass yet. We do not grow up. We learn how to fake things. We adjust learn to do things better but we are still children nursing hurts that have not healed. Really. I promise you those spewing vitriol over our news and social media are terrified. They are shivering children throwing temper tantrums because they have not healed from childhoods of unsafe of not being good enough.

Here’s the thing. Temper tantrums can harm others. Mentally, physically all of it. If we don’t acknowledge what we fear. What hurts us we stand the risk of taking the place of the monsters we feared.

Isn’t that what growing up is? Not the monsters part but the taking places. We step into the shoes left behind by the older cool kids, by our parents, and almost beyond imagination our grandparents. We are the next in line. If what we knew were monsters and we don’t face it we will become it.

How to face them? Fuck if I know for sure. I’m sure as hell trying because I am TERRIFIED. Trying helps. Art works best. Look I don’t give a fuck what your art is. Chalk drawing, interpretive dance, doodle on the back of an envelope, write gibberish, black out words in books until poetry appears, act, it does not matter. Take all of the monster all of the fear and be uncomfortable with it until you can turn it into something else. Think Dementors as J.K Rowling’s depression.

As long as mental health services are beyond my pay grade this is the tool I have and it has kept my head above water. If this helps you you are welcome if it doesn’t then chances are this post was not for you pass it on to someone it may be for. If my swearing is the part that offends you and not the lack of mental health support you should probably be offended more often. (thank you Mae West).

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