When I Can't Seem to Open Up to My Counselor
Your lungs are screaming and working tirelessly, desperately searching to find the accurate words, but you can’t. Your brain has its little party while your anxiety controls you within and says no. That’s the pain, the fear, anguish we can’t let out.
More and more people are opening up about their struggles, and believe me that’s good, but it’s the speaking that’s the real issue for me.
You try to remain calm, but that small room swallows you in your fear as you walk through the door. This is where it begins. This brings me to the surroundings. Every session you’re filled with the many issues that revolve in this never-ending world. They somewhat still linger through the air and make you feel claustrophobic. This is where the struggle begins. You begin to shake, tremble, stutter with exhaustion as you’re grasping to pull your pain together. You stumble across your words.
You do all of this in the desperation and hope of being noticed, heard.
It seems like your pain inside you should be so easy to release and communicate about, but it’s been the same person, the same room for eight anguishing months, and you’ve still had to hide in your shell anonymously because talking is merely impossible. There is that vicious pounding in my brain, taunting me and beating me up as to why I can’t do the simplest things like talking to my counselor.
There may be a reason as to why we are like this, and there is no easy road to mental illnesses and recovery. The silence does not mean we don’t have anything going on; it’s just the frog in your throat waiting to jump out, but it can’t.
And that’s OK.
This is where it begins.
There is no easy road nor is there a “right way” to recovery, but once you find your support, believe me, you can see the light at the end of the road.
What I have learned over these past eight months is even by the end of the sessions you may feel exhausted, but every step of the way to recovery is worth it.
The first steps are terrifying, but you may be glad you were strong enough to go.
You may still struggle to communicate and that’s OK because the person you talk to will try to engage and understand you more as a person.
I believe recovery is a long process, but to whoever is reading this, there is someone who will listen, empathize and understand you. They’ll take your problems and listen, and all that anxiety you’ve gone through just to enter the room can, session by session, start to disappear.
There is hope out here, and there is love.
Everything can be OK.
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