Another week ends, another therapy session ends and where were my words? In my pocket. The writing I had done form the week before was in my pocket I couldn't take it out and she new it was there because she asked and I told her. I felt like such an idiot today walking out of her office having accomplished absolutely nothing.
It's almost like there is this weird power struggle thing going on in therapy. I want and need to talk but feel that if I do then she "wins." I told her that my writing was in my pocket but I wouldn't take it out just because I didn't want her to have the satisfaction of "winning." This is not a game and the things that I need to talk about in order to heal are extremly frightening to me. I know therapy is not about her, it's about me and my story. I know that most of what I come up with is only an excuse and a way to get though 60 minuets without having to go to deep into the past. Next week there will be no idle chit chat. Sit down...talk... If I weren't so acutely aware of myself and my behaviors therapy would be easier maybe. She isn't telling me anything I don't know. All I have to do is cooperate.

On a little different note. I'm going back to Iraq (again) but this time it will be for 13 months. I don't want to leave again and have my last 7 months in therapy have been a total waste. Before I leave somehow I'd like to be empowered by my own story instead of trying to save everyone else. That may sound a little selfish, I can asure you I'm not a selfish person. My mind is going in hundred different directions now so this might be a good time to stop typing. Thanks for listening as always.

~Sailaway