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My therapist has me doing art, she thought it would be a good way to access feelings and express things I have not been able to express verbally. And so I have been. It has been an interesting process. I can't draw, which she thinks is a good thing, because I spend no time thinking about technique and just draw.
It is amazing what comes out, what gets expressed, what gets said and unsaid. It is amazing what I pick up on, and what she picks up on. How much of the process is unconscious. Some of it is more graphic then I expected, more explicit. Some of it is more abstract. Some of it is just feeling.
I left today feeling a few things. I felt a sense of relief, something I have not felt in a long time. But I also felt a feeling that this stuff is so much. It is so big. The hugeness of it overwhelms me. I feel a bit like in the two years I have been working on this as deeply as I have, I really have not gotten that far. But I know that isn't true. I know I've made progress, I know I have grown and changed. I also got waylaid by changes in therapists.
The other lost feeling is anger. I can touch it, a little bit, sometimes. But then I shy away from it, hide from it, push it down, do anything not to feel it. Which of course, worsens the depression.
Sometimes I cannot really understand that this is my life, this is my reality, that was my childhood. I feel split off from it. That was someone else's experience. That was not really me. That happened to someone else. I imagine I must be making it all up, I am making it worse then I really need to be. But then I look at this art, my feelings, my experiences.
it becomes so much, almost to much.
And then I don't know what do to with it. I feel like I could either sink all the way into the depression, or explode in anger.
Maybe I need to keep drawing.
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