But there was something deeper, darker, that frightened me even more than just being weak. I was afraid of showing my weakness, of admitting that I couldn’t handle this crap all alone any more. I was afraid to admit that it was too much, that is WAS that bad, and that I was going to lose control of it. What if I asked for help and it just exploded out all over everything and nobody wanted me around anymore because I was broken and horrible and pathetic? What if they found out what a loser I really am?
But you know what? The people around me - the people I CHOSE to be here with me - they are better than that, and I should have given them more credit for it. Here’s another journal entry from my early days of therapy, Journal #3.
I think that, at this point, I'm just feeling a huge sense of relief. I finally admitted that I need help and the world didn't end after all. I let B. see how messed up I really am and he didn't reject me. Maybe I can deal with the rest from here.
I know the bad feelings will return soon enough, but for now I'm feeling okay, if a little tender. I still don't really want to be around too many people or talk too much, but I can laugh.
(from The Desiderata, by Max Ehrmann)
You are a child of the universe
No less than the trees and the stars.
You deserve to be here.