Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 20

Did I tell you I got a nutritional therapist?

I was afraid I was becoming addicted to sugar.

It runs in the family.

And I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be like my family.

I want to be better.

So I hired her.

And we took a deep dive into my family, into my trauma, and into why I sometimes emotionally eat.

And she started slow.

She suggested increasing my water intake.

And making healthy brownies instead of buying chocolate.

And that helped.

But that rejection the other day triggered another emotional response.

And the first day, I surprisingly didn’t eat my feelings.

I felt alright and I thought I talked it all through with my friend back home.

But then the weekend came.

And with it came the shopping, the distractions and the reach for old, happy memories.

And honestly I don’t feel shame about it.

Because I know why I did it.

I have pain inside me that needs to be seen.

I need to cry more and I’m really bad at making time to cry.

But I know I need to try because this pain has been with me for a decade now at least and I’m tired of getting so hurt when people don’t want to be my friend anymore.

It’s just getting ridiculous, you know?

Because I know my worth.

And I am a good friend.

And I am a good person.

So if I know this about myself, then I shouldn’t let these comments or actions stick to me.

I should treat them like rain on a duck’s back and just let it slide right off me.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 10

So I’ve been called a sadist.

But I’d like to describe it more as

A controllist.

I like to believe I have the upper hand.

But what this person doesn’t know

Is this is my wall talking.

He doesn’t know I’m full of shit

He doesn’t see me crumble

in therapy

Or cry with joy from being loved for three years by the most forgiving man I’ve ever met.

He doesn’t know me.

He tried to pull that perceptive card,

But I’ve met his like before.

Confident on the outside

Insecure on the inside.

Like all of us.

So don’t tell me, you can read me.

Because I know you’re no fly on the wall.

You’re just like every other psychology cock sucker thinking you’re the next Freud.

So bye boy.