It’s a sleepless, post-therapy morning and my brain is spinning.
It’s not bad spinning. It’s “holy fuck there’s a lot to digest” spinning. Kinda my own fault for not fronting and speaking up during the actual session.
I cannot believe how effortlessly I am being knit back together. Turn in the opposite direction and slow to a quiet rocking, like a spider hanging from the ceiling catching the ghosts of the air at a different angle.
I just needed one person in the world to believe me and trust me without trauma responses creating tangles. And that person is our therapist. I have been so ready to grow and so trapped in my own insecurity and need for validation for so long.
I can rest without hibernating in the abyssopelegic layer of my mind.
I found the paper and the ink and a bunch of other things I’m still too scared to name or describe.
God knows I don’t want to be a bad person. It becomes a flaw, and so I can barely remember my name, which is probably an alias of an alias anyway. So. Much. Trauma.
I am happy with being an absolute trainwreak if it means that I can keep the ones I trust. It’s an extremely short list, but, you know, when you’ve been through hell with trustworthy and healthy-striving people it creates quality over quantity.
-I…am either Charles or Lothair [meet the system: https://www.dissociative.cafe/2024/01/meet-the-system/]