Depleted

I had a very emotional afternoon.

I ended up opening up about everything with my therapist. I didn’t plan to—but I’m also not very good at bullshitting, so when direct questions are asked, it’s just easier for me to be honest. I’m glad I did. I needed to talk about it all.

Now I just feel… depleted. All the crying, all the remembering, all the trying to make sense of things that don’t make sense.

I miss the connection I felt with my first therapist. It’s not that I don’t like my current one, I do, but something definitely broke off in me, and it’s just not the same anymore. Every softening of her voice feels like a performance instead of comfort. Every empathetic comment sounds like a line in a play instead of something genuine.

I know it’s not her. It’s me.

Maybe if I stick around long enough, that will change.

My therapist has been really good at hearing me talk about all the ways I reacted over the last four months and normalizing what was going on for me. I appreciate that part so much. I mean, I appreciate every part, but this is the part that I can connect with for now.

As for the loss of my family member and my cat, Sir Buttons… there’s nothing to do except deal with the pain as it comes up. It’s all just so heavy right now.

I wish I could get a hug. Just one real, grounding, no-words-needed kind of hug.