Identity Crisis

Having a bit of a crisis of conscience at the moment, after some really weird - and pretty darn creepy - comments.  Basically, I've been thinking about how a lot of people use the Internet to hide behind, like these so called 'trolls' that abuse others on twitter, because they feel they have the right to say anything, and it won't get traced back to them.  The whole point of my blog was to be as honest with my readers as possible, yet, I don't use my real name… And therein lies the problem.

When I first started writing, I figured it would be much easier to be myself if I wasn't myself; i.e. I used a false name. That way, I felt I could be honest about my life, without worrying about having any fallback, or offending anyone I know – not that I would deliberately. It's like, when you have counselling; it's much easier to talk to someone who's not part of your life, who won't judge you, because they don't know you. That's what this blog is to me, kinda like my therapy. I've already explained at great length why I chose the pseudonym of 'Bad Wolf', and I still stand by what I said back then. I like the anonymity, and I like being able to keep this identity separate from the persona I portray in the real world. Otherwise, I am 100% honest in what I write here, and my twitter account – also under 'The Bad Wolf' - is an extension of that.

Yesterday, I got it into my head to screw what anyone else thinks of me, and connect all my accounts. So I went about connecting my twitter back to my Facebook, and allowing NetworkedBlogs to post on my Wall/Timeline. But then I thought about it a bit more, and talked to The Wife, and today I've gone back and reversed all those decisions; except one, which I'll reveal in a minute. Maybe I'm a coward, and shouldn't be bothered about what anyone thinks of what I write, but I am – bothered, I mean. It's like I said in 'I'm Fine'; there are certain people I can be honest with, and tell how I'm really feeling, but for the other 99%, I give the default 'I'm fine', and it's those that I don't feel comfortable in letting read my blog. Stupid, right? My blog is public, for the whole world to read, yet I don't want [certain] people I know reading it. I think, if I always had that worry at the back of my mind, that friends and family may be reading this, then it would hinder my honesty, and ruin the whole point.

It also helps that, after a lot of thought, I've kind of pinned down what I want out of this blog, which maybe I hadn't really thought about before. I want it to be a platform for me to express how I'm feeling, how I'm coping with my day-to-day life as a spoonie, and any worries or changes that may occur, and I hope that, in turn, I'm providing a bit of support or insight to those of you reading this. I find it really difficult to talk to people, apart from a select handful, so this blog has proved useful to me, on a selfish level, for understanding myself, and working a few things out. I welcome comments, and criticism, and would love to hear from other spoonies, or friends/family of spoonies, just to know someone is on the same wavelength would be brilliant. On that note, in future posts I'm going to try even harder to talk about my life as a spoonie, and how my condition - Brittle Bone Disease - affects me, in the hope that anyone else with a similar condition, or spoonies in general, will at least feel that they're not alone. I'm also going to make sure to write more about film too; it's not all about me, and I need to make the effort to write something a bit academic, after four years of studying the subject.

But, while I want to remain anonymous, I feel that I should give you all a bit of myself, a smidgen of my true identity, in order to keep that balance between the completely honest 'Bad Wolf,' yet be an identifiable and empathetic personality. So, from now on, call me Katie.

KT xxx

I'm 'Fine'

I really wasn't sure what to write about for this week's post; bit of writer's block.  So I must credit The Wife for today's topic, cheers love!

When someone asks you how you are, what's your natural response?  'I'm fine thanks' usually suffices, right?  Well yeah, of course, cos it's easier to answer with those two words, rather than giving an honest answer – unless you really are fine, in which case 'I'm fine' is, er, fine.  But if you're a spoonie, then nine times out of 10 you're not 'fine'.  I've just this minute Googled 'I'm fine', and the top result was this poem, which, although written by someone a lot older than myself, pretty much hits the nail bang on the head, particularly the last stanza.

You're probably wondering why spoonies are such a dishonest breed.  Let me give you an alternative response to 'I'm fine', then it might make more sense.  Hypothetically, on a bad day, if someone was to ask me how I was, I could respond with the following:

'I'm exhausted; I took ages to get to sleep last night, caused by pain, or anxiety about pain/care/new equipment/a long car journey etc.  I ache all over because I've been sitting in the same position for God knows how many hours, and I've still got X amount of hours left to get through.  I'm absolutely boiling hot, cos I can't seem to regulate my own temperature, and feel constantly overheated, even when it's -5 outside.  My hair needs a wash, but last night was a non-carer night, and my mother wasn't in the mood/didn't have the energy/was out.  I'm sick of this 'will it/won't it snow?' business because, as a spoonie, snow automatically means not going out for several days – weeks, in the case of 2011 – for fear of getting stuck somewhere, and not being able to just call the AA, as I travel in my non-collapsible, dead fragile, wheelchair.  For other spoonies, there's the risk of falling, and causing more damage to yourself.  I've had/got a busy week this week, and I'm worried I'm not going to have enough spoons to get me through/over it.  I'm really spotty, cos of my raging hormones, but I don't have the time or energy in the morning to put any make-up on, and I certainly don't have the time or energy to use a cleanser – neither does my mother – and that's even if I could get myself close enough to a sink, which I can't.'

Bet you're really glad you asked now, huh?  Although the above is a very worst-case scenario, hypothetical kind of response, it is definitely the type of answer that I could give, easily.  In fact, some bits of it were true, but I'm not telling you which bits, cos us spoonies tend to shy away from the 'poor me' routine.  Without generalising, I think everyone does, to a certain extent; it's that British 'stiff-upper lip' thingy isn't it?  No doubt the same could be true for other nationalities, lemme know, I'd be interested to hear the common response to 'how are you?' in Outer Mongolia, for example.

I can only speak for myself, influenced by my spoonie-ness, and say that I use 'I'm fine' for three reasons.  Firstly, I really can't be arsed to tell certain people the truth, particularly if it's someone that doesn't know me very well, or I don't trust them enough to be that honest, as I'd have to give a very thorough explanation for them to even begin to understand.  Whereas, if I was talking to someone who knew me well, and I trusted, I could give them the bare necessities, and they'd get it.  Being honest takes up too much energy, uses too many spoons, for me to waste it on explaining myself to someone who I may never see again, or who probably isn't really that bothered, and would rather I had just stuck with 'I'm fine'.

Secondly, there's the guilt aspect; spoonies are constantly thinking about those around them, and how their disability/illness is affecting them.  Well I am, and I know for a fact this is how The Wife thinks.  So by telling somebody the truth, I would automatically feel guilty that I'd made them feel bad or, even worse, I'd made them feel sorry for me, which is something no spoonie wants to do.  Aside from 'poor you', another response from a non-spoonie may be 'Is there anything I can do?', which of course there isn't, hence more feelings of guilt on the spoonie's part, and helplessness – maybe even pity, yeuch – from the non-spoonie.

Thirdly, as I said before, I personally am not very good at discussing my feelings, so I have to be really close to people, and have built up a lot of trust before I can properly spill.  Saying that, I've got a lot better over the past year, probably as a result of the counselling I had, and the confidence that Gloria and VW instilled in me, that it really is ok to not be ok, and to say when that is the case.  I'm still pretty picky over who I share everything with, and 'I'm fine' is still my default response to the majority of my friends, but there are the odd exceptions, and I know exactly who I can say 'I'm crap' to.  I'm so lucky to have another spoonie in my life, in the form of The Wife as, although we don't the same conditions – though, not that far off either – we totally get each other, and we can be honest.  There's no point feeling guilty, cos we're both going through similar crap, and sharing our crap makes it that teensy bit more bearable.

So, if you are a non-spoonie, and you ask a spoonie how they are, don't be at all surprised, or offended, to receive the 'I'm fine' response.  It doesn't necessarily mean that person doesn't trust you; it might be that they're trying to spare your feelings, or conserve their energy.  If, however, you get an honest response, try not to freak out, or run a mile; that spoonie obviously trusts you a lot, and thinks enough of you to feel that they can share stuff without losing you, so be there for them.  Give them a hug, if they can physically manage one – I can't; yet another thing someone can't do for me – or simply listen.  It does help.

BW, with a little – ok, a lot – of help from The Wife xxx

Great Expectations

Yup, I had a baby... But not in the way you're thinking.  Well, the way I think you're thinking anyway... Lemme explain.

OK, so there I am, at the beginning of 2011, struggling away with, frankly, everything.  Although I'd started to get myself mentally together in February, and was feeling a lot more positive about certain things, I was completely panicking about the 20,000 word dissertation I still had to write, in order to even attempt to pass my MA in Film.  The thought of it scared me half to death; I just couldn't imagine being mentally, and physically, able to cobble together enough research to 'fuel' a 20k essay, let alone write the thing.  I also had no idea what I wanted to write about.  I remember going to see The Legend in December, who tried to get me to think of a subject – or 'corpus' – I'd enjoy writing about.  We discussed maybe writing about the portrayal of women in vampire films – I did know I wanted to focus on feminism.  Really though, I was pretty clueless, and not particularly passionate – an important word, will feature heavily in this post – about any subject.  I came away from that meeting feeling rubbish – absolutely no reflection on The Legend – so much so, that I reckon I could pinpoint this exact day as the tipping point; the day that it all just got way too much.  The day my head exploded... Figuratively speaking, natch.

The next couple months are a bit of a blur, to be honest.  I know that, after Christmas, once the worry regarding that, coupled with my bonkers family – and other animals – was over with, I definitely started to pull myself together.  Counselling began in March, after my friend Gloria had already removed a load of weight off my shoulders, simply by listening, and I just had one – huge – hurdle left to stagger over, which [finally] leads me back to the beginning – and point – of this post.

While I'd not stopped thinking [fretting] about the dissertation since November, I'd also tried really hard not to think about it, which is as difficult to do as it is to explain.  It wasn't till late February, that I finally hit on an idea that might just work as an MA thesis.  I'd just written an essay for Sing's module on New Cinemas; we had to choose a film that had sparked debate, positive or negative, over its portrayal of a group not normally the focus of mainstream cinema, i.e. the elderly, disabled, homosexual, those of ethnic origin.  Thinking outside the box, I wrote on Disney's Aladdin (1992), and how it, in a nutshell, Westernised the goodies, and emphasised the foreignness of the bad guys. 

For the first time in ages, I actually enjoyed writing and researching an essay – what wasn't to like? I had to watch Aladdin several times over – and thought that, maybe, mixing a childish love of Disney with a spot of feminism might be enough to drag me through the next seven months.  A lunch date with The Legend helped to finalise this idea, and she sent me off with a few – OK, loads of – wise words, and a starting point for my research.  I was still bloody petrified and, had someone said that I could pass the MA without writing the dissertation, then I would have asked them where to sign.  In fact, someone sorta did, as Gloria – whose husband is a lecturer – thought that there was a way of avoiding a dissertation, probably based on extenuating circumstances, which resulted in some form of qualification, albeit of a lesser status than a Masters.  Bearing in mind what I've just said, and how I was feeling then, it really never occurred to me to just not do it.  I suppose I saw it as yet another challenge, and didn't wanna play the 'I'm disabled/stressed' card to get out of doing something that, maybe subconsciously, I knew I could do.  

When I saw her a few weeks ago, Gloria confessed that she'd worried I wasn't gonna see the dissertation through.  Now, if anyone else had said that, or I'd not completely understood where Gloria was coming from – after all, I was there – I could've been offended into thinking she didn't believe I could do it.  But that's not what she meant at all, and a chat with @sarahwithstars – aka The Wife, Gloria's niece, my soul mate – confirmed this.  Both Gloria and @sarahwithstars were worried that I didn't believe in myself enough to realise that, actually, I was being a tit – as @sarahwithstars would say – and that this was very doable.  Also, back when I was just starting to research, and formulate ideas, Gloria was desperate for me to feel passionate – there it is – in order for me to get anything out of this experience, and to care about it.  Well, I definitely wasn't passionate, and thought Gloria was possibly a bit bonkers – who gets excited about an essay?  This perception wasn't helped by the fact that Gloria said she'd written her Masters dissertation in three weeks, WTF?  So not possible…

I can't really remember the exact order of events that led up to finalising a title but, eventually, this is what I came up with:

'The Women of Disney's Renaissance: Not Such a Fairy Tale?'

Catchy, no?  To cut what was a very long process short, I basically figured that the Renaissance era of Disney (1989-99 approx) would provide a narrow, yet interesting background, as it was supposedly a time of change, and modernisation.  To narrow it down even further, I chose just two films to focus on; The Little Mermaid (Clements & Musker, 1989), and Beauty and the Beast (Trousdale & Wise, 1991) and, as both of these stories derived from fairy tales, this became the final element.

I was assigned the incredible HH as my supervisor, who I'd previously had for a module on film adaptation so, naturally, this became a big part of my writing; the rationale for the way that these films were adapted, and moulded, by Disney. 

I'm not gonna say much more about the content of the dissertation, as I'm hoping to put it up on here, in a modified state, soon.  What I will say, and I've hinted at it enough for you to probably not be surprised to learn that… I totally fell in love with my dissertation.  I got passionate!  Way, way too much actually.  Just seeing everything fit together, like my choice of films opening the door for an analysis of fairy tales, or HH providing me with tonnes of resources regarding adaptation theory, became exciting.  God, I never thought I'd be one of those people, who got excited about research.  Wow.  But I did  

HH played a big part in my total mind shift.  She was such a calming influence, and constantly told me that 'I could do it'.  Yes, Gloria had been saying the exact same thing for months, but I think hearing it from somebody else, who wasn't so close, and who wasn't obliged – as a friend would naturally be – to say 'of course you can do it', gave me the final push I needed.  I wouldn't say I couldn't have done it without HH or Gloria – though there are many things I couldn't have done without the latter – but without them, I don't think I would have got half as passionate about what I was writing, and the end result definitely wouldn't be what it is today.  I wouldn't love it like I do either, I call it my baby.  Seriously though, that's not a bad analogy; it took nine months – November, when I started thinking of a suitable subject, to August, when I handed in – of preparation, worry, stress, and discomfort – I barely slept or ate while I was writing – only for me to be left with something that I couldn't leave alone, was immensely proud of, and actually missed when I finally decided that I couldn't do any more for it.  To it.  See?!  I cried when I finished it, HH [nearly] cried I told her I'd finished, and Gloria [again, nearly] cried when I handed in.  It was a very emotional time for all concerned.  Oh, and what I said about it not being possible to write 20,000 words in three weeks?  Yeah, I was wrong;   It is.  Gloria's always right.

Am I glad I did it?  Yup.  Would I do it again?  Nope.  As much as I [eventually] enjoyed the process, it has well and truly put me off studying any further for a long time.  Though maybe not forever.  The next logical step is a PhD and, while it'd be awesome to be a Doctor, and my mother's desperate for me to do it, the thought of putting myself through all that again, times five – a PhD thesis is 100,000 words – scares the crap outta me; an altogether too familiar feeling.  Part of me almost feels I should do it for my parents - who aren't getting any younger - kind of as a 'thanks for supporting me' gesture, and I know there would be a fair few other people who'd be dead proud too; Gloria and The Legend for a start.  That thought; of how it would make other people feel, sways me one way.  That, and the fact it'd give me a purpose in life for another three years.  However, as The Legend said recently, you've gotta a) really want to do a PhD, b) have a 100% solid idea of what to write about and c), be passionate – last time I'm using that word today, promise – about the subject.  Currently, a) I don't want to do a PhD, and I'm certainly not doing it because other people want me to, it's got to be for me, or merely as something to do; b) I have a rough idea of what I'd write about, but it largely depends on what's already out there; c) I think maybe all the passion – sorry, that was the last time – I did have got poured into the MA, and there's not a whole lot left.  If – dunno, maybe 'when' – I can get conditions a. and c. up to the level of b., then yeah.  Maybe.  Watch this space… For quite a while.

BW xxx

PS, I do have a potential title for a PhD thesis; it literally popped into my mind a couple days ago, when I was barely thinking about it – I was actually thinking how much I did not want to do it.  This title-enlightenment means nothing.  Totally zilch.  Nada.  Nowt.

2011 in a Nutshell

Bloody hard work!

No, don't worry, that's not it.  I know I've been very, very absent over the past 11 months - has it really been that long?  Man - But believe me, I've had my reasons.

OK,where the hell to start?   Maybe where I left off last February  So, I had counselling, and it was good.  Seriously.  I didn't need to freak out about it, story of my life; maybe my New Year's resolution should be 'I Will Not Freak Out'.  Yeah, that'll work.   Anywho, although it wasn't face-to-face, and therefore may not be considered as 'real', or 'proper' by some, including me at first, I'll admit, it really was helpful.  Just being able to write everything down, all my deepest, darkests, and know that the person reading it was not gonna judge, or criticise what I had to say, was marvellous.  That, and the fact I wasn't burdening yet another friend with my baggage.  I mean, really, I could've got a similar effect if I'd just carried on blogging... wait a minute, now I realise!  D'oh.  But at least with the counselling, I was guaranteed a response from a pro - I assume - who, while not allowed to give advice, was able to guide my ramblings into some form of cohesive logic.  Yeah, she must've been a professional, cos no one else would've stood a chance.  I told her the whole family saga, and I was finally able to make some sense of the whys and wherefores of my crazy, messed up mind.  I've still got everything I wrote, plus the counsellor's responses.  Don't think I've read any of it since then, but it's almost comforting to know I can look back at it all again if I ever need to.  Remind myself that it is do-able.

I didn't keep up with the mentoring, which I did feel a bit bad about, as everyone had gone to so much trouble to put me back together again, when I was blatantly cracking up.  I just found that, by releasing all the stress and emotions over the family issues, everything else seemed to fall into place.  I genuinely had a light switch moment; when one day I just felt better, in control, like I could actually do this.  It was still hard, and I had my bad days, still do, but at least I didn't feel so shit-scared and alone.  Always a bonus.  So yeah, counselling, in any form; recommended.  Failing that, write everything down, diary-stylee, or even simple bullet points, or a brainstorm - love a brainstorm - so you can make sense of how you're feeling, draw connections between thoughts and events, pinpoint triggers that make you feel good/bad/ugly. 

Maybe that's one of the reasons I've started blogging again today - the second reason being to do something constructive, and not be such a lazy cow, wolf - not cos I feel crap, and need to vent, but as a preventative measure.  The counselling only lasted six or seven weeks, and I found I missed it for a bit afterwards, so what better way to make sense of my innermost thoughts and anxieties, than publicly, over the World Wide Web.  Genius.

I know I keep on about it, but I really can't get over how much better I feel now, in comparison to this time last year.  It does get better.  It's hard to believe when you're feeling rubbish, and the proverbial shoe's been on the other foot lately, with me trying to offer help to friends, so I know how difficult it is to both accept, and convince, that you will get though it.  @abbey_queenofall tweeted me the other day, saying she'd read my last post (yay, somebody does), and was currently going through similar feelings.  I hope I helped her a bit, basically by saying all of the above (in 140 characters, natch), and if reading my, somewhat garbled, ramblings makes one person feel a teensy bit better, then that's cool.  Peace out peeps, and Happy New Year!

BW xxx

NB: Next time, I'll actually explain what I've been doing for nearly a year, to account for my lack of blogging.  I'll give you some clues; it took nine months of planning, and caused a lot of pain...

So no one told you life was gonna be this way...

*Clap clap clap clap*

Ok, so my job's not a joke, as I don't have one, and I'm not broke; though I'm certainly not rich.  Nowhere near.  I wouldn't even describe myself as 'comfortable', just um, stable?  My love life definitely is DOA.  Fact.  But, all that aside, I'm using the above Rembrandts lyric to illustrate the following point: that friends are there for you, well, me anyway.

I finally shared a secret with a friend, specifically Gloria, a couple weeks ago, and it really did feel like the proverbial weight had been lifted.   I still can't really elaborate too much on what this secret is, though I suppose this blog is meant to be anonymous... Still, you never know, so let's just say I used to live with a very difficult, at times violent, family member; but I don't anymore.  Haven't told many people about this, a) it's not the kinda thing that one can easily bring up in conversation, b) other family members would be furious with me if they found out I'd been telling tales, in case the 'culprit' was put in jeopardy; God forbid.  Families have very strange ideologies don't they?  Kind of a pack mentality.  Anyway, c) it's bloody hard to talk about.

On the one hand I feel really guilty, like every time I do say something, I'm betraying certain members of my family, or pack; those that have seemingly put all this in the past, and have moved on.  Maybe I'm not a very forgiving person.  On the other hand, I feel like I should be allowed to talk about such things if I want to.  It's my right, damn it.  And aside from the whole freedom of speech aspect, I got to the point recently that if I didn't talk, I was gonna go crazy.  Again.

That's one of the many reasons why I was so messed up last year as, although this is technically all in the past, it can still so easily flare up again, with Christmas being a major catalyst.  Is it me, or does Christmas make everything like 10 times worse?  It's such a big deal to be all together as one big happy family, but the reality is that sometimes this is a Total Nightmare.  So yeah, Christmas + family issues + mountain of essays = one stressy wolf.

I went to the Mentoring session, and it was ok, not what I expected, which I think is a good thing.  I was sooooo nervous, but all I really had to do was talk about how hard I found last term, within the context of university, nothing else.  Phew.  Going again this Wednesday, expecting (hoping) for practical advice on how best to tackle this 20,000 word dissertation, which I'm still dreading.

I've signed up for counselling too, which I can honestly say I am terrified about.  I mean, I think it's about time I got some - counselling, not... anyway - but I'm freaking out.  How much do I say about, well, anything?  I know I don't have to say anything at all, but it's totally connected, and totally turning me into a raving loon, so if I don't say anything, then surely I'll be limiting how much help the counsellor can offer me, and how much benefit I'm going to get out of it.  But, and this why I rarely tell people, what if what I say gets taken way too dramatically, and they think I'm still in danger, which I'm not, for the record, but what if?  It would rip my family apart, which is why I haven't told any of them; they'd freak out that I'd dob this person in, and probably tell me that I didn't need any counselling, like they did before, after The Event.  I did need it then, I was a mess, but still, mothers know best. 

I also, plain and simply, just don't want to worry them, they've got/had enough problems, how can I add to them by raking up the (pretty recent) past?  To that end, I've told my mother, who I live with, and who is my main carer, absolutely nada.  And, as far as she knows, my first counselling session, at 9am on the 23rd, is a change of seminar time.  She could consequently 'kill' my poor innocent lecturer.  I am an awful daughter, but what else can I do?  I hate lying, though I am scarily very good at it.  This is something that I need to do by myself, for myself.  With the help of Gloria, of course, who I owe so much too; note-taker, friend, adviser, confidant, counsellor, alibi, partner-in-crime, provider of much chocolate etc.  I feel just as bad for having to get her to lie for me too, though I guess she wouldn't do it if she wasn't such a loyal pal, and for that I am forever grateful.

I guess if, like me, your life involves being totally dependent on others, the only way to achieve any form of independence is to depend even more heavily on those you trust most; in my case, friends.

BW xxx

So Far, So Good

The catchphrase of one of my fave lecturers and, I think, very appropriate to sum up how things are going.

Got through Week One of Term Two fairly unscathed.  I mean, there was the small matter of one of my seminars being timetabled in a completely stupid, difficult to get to room; in a building miles from anywhere.  But, aforementioned lecturer, Sing, who must have actual magical powers, only went and got the seminar moved to the perfect spot.  I know all this sounds really trivial and, frankly, boring, but when you're in a wheelchair, or in fact have any form of mobility issue, this kinda stuff is Really Important.  It's all very well to say that timetabling is done by computer, and that the room is accessible, so that's all right then.  But it's not actually, thanks; one still has to get to the room, trekking miles across a hilly campus, going out of your way to avoid all the numerous building works.  In The Rain.  Some people just don't get it, and computers certainly don't; when I found out that a bit of software was responsible for my timetable, I knew I was screwed.

Big it up for Dr Sing though, Man Is A Legend - though, not The Legend.  He's amazing is Sing, not only are his sessios just so brilliant, and informative, and clear - you'd think all these would be givens at MA-level; you'd be wrong - but he is just So Darned Nice!  Though, not in the way that South is So Darned Nice, you get me?!  Example: Sing knows I'm only on campus on days that I have seminars/lectures, which means I have a limited time to borrow required DVDs from the campus library, watch them at home, and then return then, all whilst trying to avoid hefty fines, and disapproving looks.  Sing also knows how bloody crap (my words, not his, don't think I've ever heard him swear actually...) the library is at keeping their shelves stocked.  They either only have one copy of each film which, for a group of eight Film Post-grads with no scheduled screenings, is completely stupid, or they have Region One DVDS, which is fine, except we live in the UK.  So what does Sing do?  Offers to lend me his copies of all of the required films, two weeks in advance of each seminar, so that I have plenty of time to watch and return them.  Brilliant, it really is the little things that make a big difference... isn't that from a TV ad??

Maybe I should've titled this post 'Ode to Sing', but it is all about me (!) and, so far, I am good.  Have only got through the first week, and I do have my first 'mentoring' (counselling) session tomorrow, which I'm a teensy bit nervous about.  Never had 'therapy' before, though I'm sure I should've done.  Several times.  Thus I've no idea what to expect.  Do counsellors really use the much-clichéd 'and how does that make you feel?'?  Dunno, but I guess I'll find out tomorrow.  Will let you know.

Seriously, I am a bit worried.  Been feeling so much more positive, and calm at the moment, what if talking brings it (whatever 'it' is) all back to the surface?  I feel I want to talk, and I'm ready, else I'd totally be bailing out, yet I worry that dragging up all those bad feelings will start me off again; I haven't cried for siz weeks tomorrow!  Not a monumental record I know, but for someone who spent their entire last three weeks of term either in tears or on the verge, and who cries at everything anyway, it's pretty good going. Apart from anything else, I've got a seminar straight after, and don't want to turn up for that a gibbering, snotty mess.

I worry that if I let go, I'll fall apart.

BW xxx