I saw the bereavement counsellor today. She is just as I was told. Lovely and warm and easy to talk to.
But there’s this thing about counsellors. They want you to talk about your feelings.
The problem with that?
You have to feel them.
I don’t want to. I want to stuff them in a nice, neat little box, buried for as long as possible.
I don’t want to *look* at them.
I don’t want to *feel* them.
I don’t want them to exist.
Because when they do…. it hurts. I don’t like pain. Pain hurts. Pain makes me sad. When I’m sad I cry. I’m not pretty when I cry. I like being pretty.
Even trying to write this blog – I’m slowly getting overwhelmed by the feelings. It’s harder for me to stuff them back into their box.
I’ve always done this – I’ve always stuffed things, kept myself level, learned how to be a chameleon and how to blend. I’ve always kept feelings at a level where I could control them.
As a result, I was never *really* happy, but then again, I was never *really* sad either.
And now I don’t have a choice because the person I loved the most; the person I planned on spending my life with; growing old with, has died. I can’t avoid that. I can’t stuff that into a box (well technically – I can, but that’s probably inappropriate humour) and call it a day.
So I have to feel.
Despite my brain doing it’s level best to give me all sorts of excuses as to why I shouldn’t see her again, why it wasn’t a good fit, why I didn’t need to come back…. I made another appointment.