When a call to help, helps me

I find it hard to blog nowadays, as my therapy inches along. For the first time ever, I’ve struggled to speak about the issue we’re dealing with, whether in therapy or to my long-suffering wife. In therapy, I force the words out while clenching on to my plush toy. To my wife, I’ve tried to speak, but failed miserably, staring at the laptop to avoid looking at her because the words just would not come out.

I changed therapists again recently, as my therapist resigned from the institution. I didn’t ask where she’s going because even if she’s going into private practice, that’s not something I can afford. My new therapist and I have had some growing pains, but she told me something I struggle to agree with. Even turning up for therapy – despite being scared, despite feeling like this might be more trouble than it’s worth, no matter how tired I am, was something that she said was brave and worth acknowledging.

I struggle with this concept.

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An apology and an update

One problem with this blog is keeping track of the chapters and what not… trying to organise it as a book has been a reason not to blog as much, because well, a living book is hard to keep track of, in terms of the dates and trying to work around WordPress’ limitations.

From this post onwards… I’m gonna declare I’m lazy. I’ll just blog, and ignore the chapters. It’ll help me to blog more frequently, when I just feel like it.

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2. Background to Disaster

I’m 38 years of age, as I write this. I don’t really know of much mental illness in my own family, but suicide was something I do remember from my youth. I don’t remember anyone actually committing suicide, but I do remember someone close to me threatening to kill themselves, taking a blade and bringing it into their room. That person locked the door, and when it was unlocked with the master key, the person screamed that he or she would take their own life if that was tried again.

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