May 15

 There is a little mental turmoil going on over the continuance of therapy.

It has been pointed out to me that this might be a symptom of readjusting to something I had closure over, and then reopened. I can see the point. I'm just not sure it's right. It doesn't feel right. Perhaps it's just more of the same shifting I have been doing of late.

I seem. To be less focused. On putting everyone else first. By default. Without thinking. There's a reassessment going on. Of everything. It's not particularly conscious. I am not going through with a marker pen and a checklist. It just seems to be more. Background. And fundamental. Something my cognitive bit of me is not entirely being informed about. I don't know. Perhaps it's just a symptom of something else. A disconnect. A disassociation. I seem to have stopped trying. Or. Something. Quiet. That same quiet. That has been rattling around for months. Slowly seeping out, insidious.

Case in point.

My sister messaged me yesterday. A very brief note about her getting out in retirement, weather was looking nice next week, was I about ?

And I felt weird about it. For the first time ever. No automatic reflex. Instead. A pause. A thought. And an unease. Which could just be a symptom of where my head is at. But when I rooted around trying to figure out who this new person impersonating me was. I kinda came up with -

I don't want to pretend to be something I am not.

Or more precisely.

I don't want to have to code switch.

I don't want to have to put on a social mask.

I am tired. It feels like. It would take effort. And energy. That I don't have. And I don't want to.

I don't know.

I think. I just want to be me. And it be ok to be sad. And it ok to be where I am. Without having to justify it.

I don't know.

And it feels like. I wouldn't have that space. My sister would expect a certain me. Not that she's said that. But. I know. She doesn't like confronting sad things.

And let's be real. Sad people. Darker people. Are not super fun to be around. Unless that's your thing. Or you have good empathy, or positivity or blah. Basically. Normally. People like fun. And. The light. And not the dark. It's just how it is. I don't make those rules. Happy positivity tends to be attractive. And gloomy negativity tends to be unattractive. And for some. Keyed to avoid any kind of processing of darker things. It's very hard.

I'm not saying any of this is fair. Fair on my sister. It just. I think. Is where I am at.

I have been asleep for most of the time. On properly waking I sent her back a message. Unsure where to pitch it. I landed on saying, always welcome, not sure how good company I am going to be. A. Message. That I am perhaps not going to be the person you quite expect. Or. Not guaranteed. Or something.

Which is maybe a long winded way of saying I'm just being anti social at the moment. Except. It's not that simple.

Perhaps this is something that therapy has shaken loose. The progression from accepting traumatic things in childhood. The ingrained survival mechanism to adapt to everyone else, predict, soothe, placate, no sense of self or self worth. Perhaps. This is me being just a little, just a tiny bit. Me. Instead of the reflection others have of me.

But perhaps not. Perhaps that is just reading into things, and it's just my mood.

But that also. Doesn't ring true. The "defeated" air since Feb. The quiet.The giving up. It feels like I have stopped ... needing.

I don't know.

Give it a month. Perhaps I will change. Perhaps it's just the extension of that loss of patience with everyone and everything where it all piled on. And I am still recovering my patience.

I am not sure.

There is a bit there. That feels like I am not me. Not the old me. Someone different. But that's not quite right either. I still have the same care of things. Of people. And yet.

Perhaps it is indeed a little erosion of my automatic response to code switch and soothe.

It feels like I have disconnected.

The therapist sits in my mind. Their clear statement of emotional connection. They would miss me. Very sad. It echoes. Perhaps harder than I first thought. They are different to me. I mean as in, their attitude towards me is different to what I encounter. Different. Mindful. Present. Which is of course what you want a therapist to be.

I explained this to a friend the other day. That it was clear the therapist was listening very hard to me. That I was very quiet. I didn't impinge. Didn't ask. Small. My friend had once said of me that I make myself very small. What he meant by that is that I don't impose. I don't demand any special consideration or treatment. Nothing. So what I need or want. Doesn't come up. But. With the therapist. They have listened very hard. Because I am quiet. Everything is. It's ok. It's fine. You don't have to. And they go look for it anyway. And get the thing. Does the light bother you ? It's fine. You don't have to. It's ok. Does *the light bother you* ? Well. Yeah. It feels loud. My lights at home are all low light. Switching on a main light feels like shouting. Uncomfortable. And from the following week the therapist changed the light. To a soft one. An up lighter. Like I had at home.

Perhaps. This subtle listening over time. Has eroded a few things in me. Subtly. In the background. Those tiny opinions. Have been taken into account. And I have been shown that's ok.

But. I am not sure.

Unfamiliar waters.

And perhaps tomorrow, next week, next month, I will snap back to who and what I usually am. Just a prolonged off season.

But it feels like a change. That I don't fully understand yet.