As I do every week, I've been to see my friendly counsellor - and I'm quite enjoying it, truth be told. It's not often that you get the chance to unburden in a guilt free environment, examine your navel and ponder on who exactly you are. By way of back story, I was in a very dark place a few months ago, and it was suggested that I go for some counselling. The waiting list was such that I had to wait a while, and as luck would have it, my first appointment came through just after I'd had a rush of blood to the head and walked out of my job (see previous posts). So I went, hesitant and guarded at first, to see what it was all about. I go every week, I sit down, I talk, I answer questions, and I come away feeling better somehow. To be honest, I've resisted the urge to dissect the process, to examine and understand what is going on and why, as I thought that it would be counterproductive. Instead I sit back and enjoy the ride. And bugger me - it seems to be working. I know that it might just be that I was on the upward curve anyway, and that the counselling was nothing to do with the upswing in mood, but hey, I'll give it the benefit of the doubt.
Depression colours everything in your life, and nothing is free from the critical voices in your head - work, family, self worth, but most of all it seems to take the flavour out of memories - intellectually I could recognize that there was a time when I was happy, when I was full of the cocky arrogance that comes with self belief, but I couldn't remember what it was like, what it tasted of. This from someone that had to look up the word supercilious when it was put on a school report aged 10......
Well, I'm tasting life again. Gods know why, as on the surface life is as worrisome and complicated as ever, but my ego tells me that I can handle it, that all will be well, and if the shit does hit the fan, it won't be my fault. Life is good. Until it isn't - obviously.
I'm in the middle by the way. Scarborough punks c1979
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