Why don’t I make my therapy sessions tragic?
It is what I call a coping mechanism. My lightheartedness. My coping mechanism. I need to counter the dark with the light. The gloom with the humour. Otherwise, what’s the point? Might as well give me a dose, give me the shotgun. Is that dramatic enough for you?
But, no, I tend to be quiet, get quiet, because mental illness is such a personal battle. I don’t scream from rooftops about it and at times talking about it can be a trigger. I sat through many lectures on coping mechanisms, mental health tools, mental illness, that it all becomes repetitive and snooze-worthy. Unless you start listening, really listening, and applying the tools to your well-being. Without that action, recovery won’t work, and you sleep through what’s equivalent and important.
So why I don’t make my therapy sessions tragic? Because at times the sessions are repetitive, looping like that progress icon on your screen, stalling, and hopefully not crashing. Because at times there is humour in tragedy besides the evident fact that there is an enormous pain. Because the tears of tragedy might be a source of healing and those tears might be quiet and not that eventful to the observer. Because the majority of my tragedy is internalized. Because if you passed me on the street, you couldn’t tell that there’s something unhappy and wrong. Because progress doesn’t need to be tragic or a huge thunderous revelation, rather it can be a graceful, gradual, and calming tinker of a lesson. At least that’s my goal: to come out on the other end fully intact and calm. Fine, maybe some chipped edges here and there but at least calm.
That’s the goal. That’s the goal.
Flow with the river. Float in the wind. Don’t sink. Don’t freeze in winter. Keep your third eye looking within. Keep your heart open. Don’t blink and miss the wonder that is life, the eternal and the present. Connect. Be kind. Be calm. Be peace. Be now.
That is the goal. That is the result of a session.