So lately I have been going through a tough time in my life - my brain has been working over time... trying to catch the mice inside my skull.
Panic attacks, stressing, emotional = need to go to a therapist.
And that's exactly what I did. (Don't judge- I think everyone should have a therapist, life is hard as it is.)
My therapist, Christopher, looks like a mixture of Brendan Fraser and Nicolas Cage.
I'll call him Brendan Cage.
He's great. The session was great. So great that I realised how fucked up I really am. These bags of issues I continue to haul around me, need to be addressed.
I realised how my habits continue to turn in a viscous cycle and how rigid my habits have become. I'm 24 in human years, so that makes me 168 in dog years. Well, that must mean I'm dead in dog life (not really working out as I planned this sentence to do so). Basically, I'm old and decrypted in dogs years - and you can't teach an old dog new tricks. Hopefully therapy will help to do this and unwind the years of self-sabotage.
I'll be seeing him again.
It's nice to know that I can 'blah, blah, blah' in someone's ear and they have to listen to me 'coz I am paying them to do so.
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