Therapy

My sense of God is not a deity, but a profound sense of wonder.

(Robin Williams’ interpretation of Albert Einstein quote)

I never liked the concept of ‘therapy’. It seemed to me that therapy was something that existed outside of the boundaries of that which is called the ‘real life’. Like it was an undesired consequence of some unfortunate happenings; something that was only meant for the people who have been ‘damaged’. Like it was something that should not be there if your life was normal. But who has a normal life, though, really? Has anyone gone through it smoothly without ever encountering their inner demons?

The game is called stuck in the mud. It’s called life. When you realize that your life consists of nothing else but playing this game – pulling one feet out, just to see the other one drawn deeper – you will probably look for any ways to get out of it. Whatever might work – will do.

So I did. I turned to philosophy, astrology, yoga, extra-ordinary forms of self-expression, self-medication, alcohol abuse, drug abuse, and my own body abuse – as ridiculous as it may sound, they were my ways of trying to stay ‘normal’. Trying to stay sane. All of the above seemed like things that aren’t beyond the norm, but psychotherapy was never on my list. It was the last resort cuz’ it somehow seemed inappropriate to ask for help when nothing in my life was really that much of a tragedy. Nothing except of the mental state I was (am) in.

It was at the point of desperation that I decided to ask for help. The peak of frustration has led me to acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, I might be incapable of helping myself. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t utter a word. Back in the day I wrote:

Getting increasingly tired of people making assumptions. The question of “Why won’t you speak? Why don’t you say anything?” has been addressed to me numerous times. But how could I? When everyone around me is just such a know-it-all. I live in the world of the know-it-all people. The moment I open my mouth, I can almost hear them making assumptions. I don’t even need to finish the sentence – so why should I even start?

Sometimes, oftentimes even, I don’t even know what is it that I want to say, so when I start saying things the meaning of which I cannot fully comprehend myself and the listener already claims they know better – that can be frustrating to say the least.

It feels lonely. I’m surrounded by masses of people and yet all alone in the universe. I wish I could melt, just melt into the constantly evolving matter. I’m so tired. I’m frightened. I’m so fucking scared.

I never thought of myself as of being secretive, but I was somehow perceived as such. Now, that I think about it in retrospect, I can actually acknowledge that I was (am). And the reason is not that I’m hiding things, but because there are things that aren’t clear to me and, as a result, I’ve stopped attempting to express them.

I live in the state of confusion pretty much all of the time. More often than not, things get really confusing in my head except of the few blissful moments of clarity. Before, I refrained from speaking about that which is not clear to me and only opened my mouth to say things that I was certain about. These days, I try to do the opposite.

Therapy then. I have gone through a considerable amount of therapy. I would like to say that I’ve finished the course and I’m fully recovered, but that would be like saying I’ve quit smoking. My dad says there is no such thing as quitting – you always just stop temporarily, but chances are – you could always go back to it. Couldn’t agree more.

What I’ll say instead, then, is that I have temporarily stopped paying someone money for the company in which I could really speak about the things that matter to me. Where I was allowed to be confused and actually feel things. It’s done me good, there’s no denying, and the best thing I’ve learned was to actually be kind to myself.

Now, I go for a ride with my Yellow Beauty [pictured] when I feel down, or cycle around with my Hercu [the bike], and have a cup of tea with a friend who actually cares instead of spending time trying to be nice to strangers. I call my mom more often and tell her things that might not be so pleasant to hear. I don’t only share the joys, but speak about the hard times that I go through. I don’t protect my precious ones so carefully from that which might be painful to know because I know I distance them by hiding things. I speak now, I restlessly try to express things that are not clear to me, but somehow burden me. I go for walks for no purpose, but just to take things in. I allow myself feel things that go beyond the norm of the ‘socially accepted’ feelings and I spend way more time on my own. But the most outrageous thing that I do – I deliberately take time to be inefficient. I do things for no cause and no reason – not for my personal or professional development, not for my friends and family, but only just to please my heart desires at the given moment. Desires which are unknown to myself in advance. I don’t always have the time for it, but I make myself find it. It’s become the first and foremost priority – to legitimately do things for no result without feeling guilty about it. It might be just a couple hours a week, but those hours proved to be the most effective therapy.

Don’t get me wrong, the emotional roller-coaster ride is still on. The highs and lows of the moods-swings can still be extreme. What happens now is that I actually accept them. I don’t try to escape them or repress them no more, but allow them to wash over me. Now they are part of me.

The things I am saying here are probably not new to anyone. What I’ve discovered while in the process, though, is that there is a fine line between knowing what’s right and doing what’s right. Without placing myself under too many constrains and doing my best to be honest with myself about what’s feasible, I actually try to bring those two together. I’m not gonna lie – I’m not there yet and quite possibly – I will never quite get there. But there is nothing quite like the journey.

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