Not big, not fat, but sometimes a little bit mad.

Writing about stuff that is hard to deal with is supposed to make it easier to deal with (well that is what all the professionals, and non professional will tell you).
I’ve never bothered with any kind of therapy, counselling or support group. Mainly because when I was a 5 and about to have some crazy major surgery, they insisted you speak to the on ward psychologist to ‘understand what is going to happen to you’, and my psychologist decided that it would be a good idea for me to see my new on ward friend in intensive care. It was not. That is what I still have nightmares about. I can’t remember much about being in intensive care but seeing my friend lifeless, hooked up to all the machines just hours after playing on the ward? That I remember. 
Surely therapy would make it harder to deal with? I don’t need to go somewhere to be reminded that I can’t walk up hills, and I can’t take talking about it in a serious manner and I don’t think a therapist would agree with spending a hour making ‘when I die’ jokes.
I have a diary that gets used every few months, when something good happens, or when I need to have a little melt down.
That’s maybe why I find updating this blog tougher than I thought it would be. Nobody sees the tears and the worries,  because letting everyone see them won’t help. It will mean that I will see faces of pity and sorrow. You wouldn’t be happy that I was okay, you would be sad that I’m not happy all the time. 
So this is where the stuff I want you to see goes. 
everything else goes in my diary. I think if I had a  therapist they’d say this was a break though. 

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