I went into the session fortified on Chinese takeaway and came out feeling like my psyche had been flayed with a cheese grater.
On the good side of things, after the session, I wasn't in tears, curled up in the foetal position, but it does feel like things have shifted and I'm a bit raw.
Every second Thursday is shrink night.
Tonight, I got shrunk.
We covered a lot of ground. I'm not up to talking about most of it. I've got to process this in another way. She made the interesting observation that I possibly write because it's a good way to process my emotions and other things I don't understand.
I told her about going to a party on the weekend, where, after having a minor internal freak out where the main party was happening, ended up in the shed with a couple of other neurodivergents until the kids turned up and made noise. I was happy. I was with my tribe.
I hypothosised that I probably smoked in my twenties because it got me away from noisy environments. Once again, I'm much better in a place where there's room to move, fresh air and fewer people. I gave up smoking over 15 years ago.
We talked a bit about the horrors of internet dating in your 50s and the dreadfully uninspiring nature of middle-aged men.
And I told her that I had two opportunities to go out on Saturday. A friend's choir at Hamer Hall or another friend's partners jazz album launch. I related that the last time I was at the bar I had some very cool chats with various people. Then, I said I'd probably stay at home with the cat and work on my blankets.
Gently, she said that maybe the jazz club might be a good place to practice the art of talking to people. You're not going to meet anybody in your lounge room sniffing your cat's paws. If worse comes to worst, I could always bum a smoke off somebody and feel comfortable standing outside with the pariahs.
I asked if I could treat myself to a bowl of ice cream after the session, She reckoned that was a good idea.
I've bought the ticket to the jazz club. I've enjoyed the ice cream.
I'm upright and not crying, as the Dutch say, even if I am a little bit emotionally raw.
It's a process.
I'll sign off. The cat wants his chair back. His claws are making mincemeat of my leg.
Grated from two ways. Great!
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