This time, it’s not my inner narrator motivating me to write; I need to talk. I need to feel someone is listening somewhere, somehow, on the other end. I want to be able to express my feelings fully without getting sidetracked. Stress is high lately even if things are great. St is by my side, supportive, and wonderful as always. He’s my pillar, the solid ground on which I can grow. My close friend S is sporadically present; it’s been our friendship dynamic for many years. I text on occasion my previous university friends, and chat with my mom on a weekly or so. Still, I need to talk.
I haven’t had my own counsellor in a while, and I’m going to have to make a decision. Do I go back to online services, or do I change to a face-to-face professional? I was considering zootherapy to have some healthy touch, and comfort before St came back in my life. Today, I have all the tenderness, physical contact, and affection that I need. As much as I love talking to St, and spending time with him, I’m lacking a diversity in perspective. Also he’s not responsible of my mental health, and shouldn’t be.
For the past week, I’ve been trying to speak to S, but she has a new fling, and she didn’t take the time to free herself. It disappointed me. I’ve experienced a full blown “fear of abandonment” reaction. It expresses itself in me in the form of wanting to leave the friendship to avoid feeling let down. I managed to self-regulate, and not turn my back on S, but it exposed my urgent need for good quality interactions with someone I can trust, and can count on. Outside of St, I have no one I can confide regularly to. I can’t dump all my emotional needs on him, so it’s time to spread out the load with other people.
For more than a decade, I’ve turned to counselling to improve my mental health, but also to find a form of safe friendship. I’m currently deeply present of my lack of trust in others. I’m becoming more aware of my abandonment issues. Introspection is possible now that I’m not constantly fighting for survival. I hurt: I’ve hurted, and I’ve been hurt. A lot. I fear. I ache. I dread. I long.
For my own well being, and the expressive power blogging brings me, I have to write more often. To ease my soul, reflect on my life events, and self-regulate better. Hypersensitivity, apprehension, and pessimism took too much of my energy this week. As my inner narrator subsided in the past month, I thought it was the end of my writing journey. It seems the health benefits of writing have me back on my keyboard.