Tag Archives: writing therapy

Conversations with my therapist

Standard

One day my therapist asked me, ‘If you know being inactive and dormant won’t get you anywhere, and this is what triggers your depression then why don’t you move or try changing?’

‘It is like ice’, I replied, ‘Imagine being stripped naked and splayed out on it. The ice leaves cold burns on my skin. Air just makes me more aware of the sting so I don’t get up. I am afraid of the wind burning my skin. Lying there, on that block is all I have known. It feels like home.’

He told me that I can move. I’m braver than I think. I got my entire life to live. Temporary pain can prove to be relief forever. I still did not budge. He gave up and asked, ‘So you don’t want to get up?’

‘I do, but I’m waiting for the block of ice to melt. Somethings in life require more time than effort.’

Advertisements

Lovers United

Standard

Depression. It’s like a lover that sweeps me up in its arms and throws me on the bed so hard that I end up breaking no bones but for the next few weeks, I can hardly get out of bed.
No. I don’t want to be yours, anymore. I see it go away and muster the strength to start afresh in life. Every effort against it is a win. I think I’m winning.
But, I am afarid.
I’m afraid that it is still there lingering like a shadow ready to turn into a ghost that will haunt me. It stares at me from outside the window and I am too afraid to let fresh air in because I cannot run the risk of letting it come back.

Depression is back. Sometimes the emptiness in my chest gets so heavy that I find it hard to breath. I end up beating my chest to unclog my lungs in an effort to rid of this disease. It goes away but I’m not sure for how long. I wouldn’t know because last time I spent two months without it and bid it farewell.

What I’m saying is that the dark clouds are back again and like everytime, I fear that there would be no way out of this. I’ll crumple like a piece of paper in the corner of my bed and my bones would sink into the mattress. My chest would be empty and suffocation will be the death of me.
I see it smoking by the door. Depression.
It’s coming at me like a war torn lover coming home.