Sometimes I don’t know why I choose to write on here. Then I have to stop and realise that this is the bully voice trying to sneak it’s way into my thoughts. I write on here simply because it helps me cope.
I have a lot of bad dreams. I understand they are my brains’ way of processing things that have been locked away for years. It’s not nice. Nice is such a vague word isn’t it.
They’re awful. I woke at 4am this morning from a particularly good one about how insecure I feel. And my head was agony. Actual pain across my eyes. What can you do about dreams other than not sleep?
I think the headache was from tension as I slept. Not much I can do about that either I suppose.
I think I’m going to have to try one or two of the self help activities my therapist recommended though. That bully is trying its best to start shouting.
The holidays are lovely. I love being with the kids. But of course it means quiet time for me to learn how to ‘be’ isn’t so easy.
I do long for a time when just being is my normal. Not this constant stress, tears and insistent doubt. I know it will take a lot of practice to change.
That’s really hard you know. Changing like that. Not to mention scary.
Writing about it here is helping in its own way. The kind voice that cares about me tells me it is.