I want to apologise if this feels scattered. My pasta was boiling on the stove and I had 10 minutes to eat before cycling 25 minutes across the city attend a meditation session.
I’m back home at my desk writing this to you. It’s almost my bedtime.
I had my first (new) therapy session today. It’s been ages. I’m ready.
(When the dust settles I can be realer here.)
Minutes in and I could feel my ptsd bristle. This is sore. That still hurts. You still affect me. It feels indulgent to bring this here, but I’m grateful for the space. It gives my friends a break.
I reveal everything but that one thing. I say ‘next time’ (it’s only session 1).
I wonder how honest I can be here. The dam is weak; a few more sessions before the truth spills out.
50 minutes are done.
I head home. I do a ritual. I cycle across the city.
I hug my friend. We head in the meditation centre. Near the altar, I sit in lotus position.
Fuck.
This is all really happening, isn’t it?
Q. In what ways are you welcoming honesty? What ways are you undoing everything that isn’t you?