My therapist combines art with talk therapy, and it's actually pretty amazing. I don't like to draw during our sessions because I can't draw for shit, but almost every time I do, something important comes out of it, and sometimes I don't like that either. Last evening, he asked me to draw the 7 year old who is still sharing my body. I have a photo of myself at that age, so I thought that is what I would probably "try" to draw, but instead, I drew a picture that more resembled a holocaust survivor, just super skinny, pathetic and filthy. I had to tell the story of this kid, and I said that he had been locked in a closet for years with no one taking care of him. He had been abandoned just like me after the abuse. About that time, the session was over, but my T said he wanted to ask me one more question: he sad, "Are you crying?" You see, it's very hard to tell when I'm crying. I said, "yes", and then the tears really started to flow. He sat with me for another 15 minutes, then gave me a big hug and let me go. On the drive home, my stomach hurt, and I finally figured out why - it felt like I'd just had surgery and the stitches were pulling. I went to bed about an hour later and immediately fell asleep. That never happens - I usually toss and turn for an hour or two.
"Some people are oh so smart, and others are oh so pleasant. I much prefer the latter." (paraphrasing Elwood P. Dowd from Harvey)