When I entered therapy it was for Fear. This is a note from January 30, 2018, from more than a year ago:
30.1.2018
Today was therapy. I have seen this therapist for two years. She’s Chinese and looks like my mum. Today she didn’t let me get away with any of my usual shit. She said I looked at her with “naïve” eyes, and that I wasn’t addressing anything she was saying. I knew myself also that I was avoiding everything that she was saying—that my mind was leaping about, unable to absorb anything, every five seconds. Just staying there, physically in the room, was difficult. Concentrating was difficult—I was planning dates, thinking back to dates, thinking about other things. Even now, when writing about it, I wanted to stop, and think about other things. The writing will not flow, it’s so slow. My therapist said something to me about the fact that I was stuck—that on this topic I was unable to go anywhere. If it was mapped out, it would look like this: stuck leaving sadness abandonment grief