Therapy

It's finally happened. I get a stretch of four days of bliss; of holidaying and sleeping and making up and making down and of course of blogging at my leisure. I'm not sure why I love this blogging thing. Perhaps I've discovered that it's very much the same as buying years on the couch, only it's better, because I do not have to keep appointment schedules, I do not have to worry whether the couch can take big old me, I do not have to think in advance what the issue of the moment is so as not to waste time out of the expensive therapy. And with me, it could get massively expensive, because I seem to have a different issue every day. I do not have to worry what the therapist will think of me if I cry at the wrong moment, or laugh at the wrong moment. Sometimes I am just like the naked women that go around in the Australian bush. No it doesn't mean I go around naked, but they are known to have it the other way round. They weep out of joy and laugh out of sadness. And sometimes I do that too. Blogging also means saving me a lot of time which can be spent in the good way of sleeping. Going to therapy appointments means I have to dress up, I have to be flawless, because I do not want the therapist to know what's going on inside. Which is silly because I am actually paying him to get to know what's on the inside. One day I decided to forfeit the flawless everything and turned up in jeans, an ugly shirt, bad hair (sorry Nigel), and a squeaky clean face. The result was astounding. The poor therapist, who is extremely good at his job, was really and truly concerned. Just because I'd gone from fab to drag (not as in gay drag, but as in something the cat dragged in) meant I got the extreme attention as to what was wrong. Nothing was really wrong, it just happened that I had lost the mask. Which made me want to smile and about which I cried instead. I still have my therapist for emergencies. But I've come such a long way thanks to here. Because once I have sworn myself to say the truth and nothing but the truth in here, however uncomfortable that may be, then it's truly therapeutic. I do not come here to story-write, although that is how it may seem sometimes. I come here because it's such a breath of fresh air on the world wide web. Oh and I can sit on a couch too, a really comfy couch. I may be judged but really I don't care. What I don't see will not hurt me. I don't even see so much as a raise of an eyebrow. It's just me and my beloved blog. And thank God for that.