The sessions I had with the therapist were strange to start with. Never in my life had I ever spoken so openly to anyone about me.
She listened and showed only empathy. Occasionally asking questions that took me in a parallel direction but allowed my concentration to pick up on buried experiences in depths of my mind. I was never questioned in a way that appeared to apportion blame or cast doubt
I’ll say now, at every session I cried. I did not feel embarrassed at all, and not any better for doing so either. Even now the closest I can get to for trigger moments is my total disgust with myself for my inability in times of need not to be able help others.
I could not help at the train crash or the suicide, so I became a victim of circumstance; which I could not accept but also could not reduce the anguish I felt.
I fear blood. I pass out and end up having to receive help.
So a double hit for my emotions and feelings: can’t help BUT BUT BUT I must.
Our discussion first had to workout which was my biggest concern, the train crash or the suicide.
Both events were as vivid today as if it had happened yesterday. I had had longer to stew on the train accident and it was this event that gave me the greatest torment.
Late in publishing
Roundabout this time last year (2016) I was anxious as to what to expect from counselling. I was open minded in as much I accepted I had to have help. But unsure as to how my mind would be prepared to give up what it was hiding from me let alone to a stranger.
I had had one session and felt very comfortable in the presence of the lady therapist. I was given straightforward guidance: I hold the answer, I will be lead, not pushed and on the whole I will set the pace. I was happy with this. I should expect to dig deep into my past. I was reassuring and said I would be open and honest.
We talked about were I was, what triggered my actions and how those actions were played out. Even now I do not like my self for responding how I did, but …
In short and mentioned in previous pages; when purposely provoked I would have great problems containing my emotions and let rip taking no prisoners. Afterwards I would inwardly brew and beat my self up. The pain of this never dissipated it just accumulated with the last and I know the next.
The therapist asked about people who I admired and could draw inspiration from when needed at a time of provocation. It took a little time (two, three weeks) and I chose Gandalf, Schindler and Banardo.
Gandalf for his ability to always have a great grasp of the issues, an answer and present his case in a calm and compassionate way while listening to others point of views.
Schindler for his true compassion and not wanting or expecting anything in return.
Banardo for his wish to help children who in their formative years need love and compassion in a safe environment and again with no personal benefit.
This idea brings forward the expectation that I can take inspiration from them and act according to good role models that come with my very own recommendations.
The problem is the short fuse I have. I have a firework rocket in one hand and a lite match in the other … it does not take long to … it’s a shorter time than it is divert my attention with an intervention.
Reading other people’s blogs who were sharing their mental health issue was mind-calming to me, and I am sorry for being trite, showed me that I am not as unique as I thought I was.
I follow other people and organisation with #tags relating to mental health and such, and find them supportive in a personal way. However, I cannot, yet, declare my identity as I don’t feel safe.
This is contrary to the in vogue message of promoting mental health issues wherever in the workplace etc.
This was me (below) but life has moved on. Counselling showed me I was not to blame and I can change my perspective on the past and remember it. It is okay, safe and not disloyal to others to remember what happened without the negative effect that came to drive my life.
You don’t need me to tell you how mental health has come to the fore but this blog has evolved for me, as mental health issues are affecting every part of my family and family life. It is as though from nowhere we are all involved at a deep routed profound level of existence.
I have now given myself a wider remit as I want to record what is happening as, to be honest, I can’t believe what we are going through. I thought we were a normal family and if everyone is as normal as we are it is a rum life we have.
This was me: A confused person suffering with PTSD. Confused as I feel a fraud. People I know still see the old me, old because I know I have changed, and I feel cannot understand what I am going through on the inside. I would consider myself a mild sufferer as I don’t exhibit every PTSD trait.
My life has drastically changed over the last two to three years, mostly for the better, but I cannot see how the grief I have has come my way. I am not an innocent bystander, I am a bit-part player in other people’s lives, all be it sometimes unwittingly.
I have not been asleep and missed things. I have not stumbled blindly into situations. The signals and signs have been there but the onslaught has been relentless and in some cases simply overwhelming.
Well, why don’t I write more? A simple question, but a complex answer is needed.
I enjoy writing; I like the discipline of being thorough, accurate and ordered. I want to be factually correct, concise, fluent and chronological.
These factors are like the sword of Damocles for me.
For me writing is painfully slow and the end result must be balanced and fully reflect my meaning and sentiment as defending self-contractions in future times is painful. It could also generate distrust by others.
The problem I see is only I know the facts of my life and this is my perspective. This is my bubble. Due to my anonymity no one else can check the facts. My facts may come across as opinions, which can be questioned but are not wrong! So on I go …
I want to write more often, but the rigorous process stifles me, and stops spontaneity; so I must change.
I plan to write non-chronologically which means I might have to use sign posts to past entries and sign post to future entries which may take a time to be written. This may mean it looks or feels jumbled but it will aid my desire to write more.
Success will tell when I reflect, in say a years time.
My time came to an end. I became aware that all the talking I had needed to do had been done, and talking anymore, and being helped, would not add to my level of understanding. I felt comfortable with my situation.
All the unpacking of stuck and un-reconciled thoughts had been sufficiently unpacked and restored suitable. Any more talking or EMDR would not expand my knowledge or understanding of the events or sooth my feelings and emotions more.
We did a round up and a summary flowed. It’s okay to remember and not feel upset or guilty. It’s okay to have sad memories but they should not drag me down or be allowed to act as fuse to ignite emotions.
My inherent desire to help should be limited in expectations to what I can reasonable do, and I should not feel guilty about not doing enough!
This end was, even now, unexpected on my part. I sat down for a session and I concluded I felt things had run there course. I had spoken enough, listened enough and cried enough. It no longer gripped me on recall. I was happy to recall and be in that past moment again but with a subdued emotional feeling.
Well, the PIP process carries on. I took time off work to take our sons partner to her PIP interview. The journey was uneventful but anxiety showed in her as we approached our destination. Cold sweet, stammers in her voice and a reluctance to want to attend took over.
Once we found the place it was off for a comfort break. Tea and coffee later we went back.
The chap on reception was very helpful and polite and we waited and waited. Our sons partner became more and more agitated and went outside and was sick.
On her return I had to break the news her paperwork was not there and they did not know where it was. I expected a full blown outburst, was pleasantly surprised at how calm we all were.
Her paper work was in a far off distant office as a home visit had been requested by the CPN and needed a Doctors approval but no one was bothered to wait until it had been agreed before making the appointment.
Controlled tears were shed and a reticence set in that acknowledge that it had all gone wrong again.
We left not really knowing when the visit would be or where.
Leaving relationship where children are involved is not done on a whim. The reason will become distant memories in the future, but the pain will keep you awake at night.
Environmental Psychology has explanations on what attracts people. Earning potential is just one aspect of this fatal attraction. So when one partner can’t see the benefit of earning more than just a subsistence wage but wants a higher life style it should not be rocket science to see there is a mismatch in life’s expectations.
Time came when the balance of sanity had to be addressed. A new home for a single person was found and they moved out.