Therapy made me feel sad. I know it was foolish to hope that my doctor would see my happiness as a sign that all was good. She is happy for me but she still wants me to be cautious. She wants me to be observant and curious. Those are all good things.

I don’t know how this happens. I can be completely joyful. Then one thing goes slightly wrong and it’s like pulling an unraveling string. My gaze drops. My pretty face gets long. My voice gets weak. I don’t want to eat.

My mom says I’m still sad about Play Brother. That’s part of it. I definitely feel helpless since I can’t speak to him or visit him. I feel guilty because so many weeks passed when I could have been at his side and I did nothing to be there for him.

Group ended yesterday. That makes me sad, too. In group, I felt safe, supported, like I had made real progress. I know I have but I also know I need reassurance. It’s that shy little girl, the one that everyone laughed at and threw things at, the one who made her mother so angry, inside me that always needs to be told that I am all right. I suppose my therapist advising me to tread carefully, even on happy ground, made me feel unsteady.

My journey is not over. But I am better. My moods are better on a hourly and daily basis. I feel stronger. I know that today’s blues have as much to do with stress, hormones, and the recent tragic events, as they do with my negative thinking.

I am recovering.

I am loved and lovable. I am happy with who I am. I love myself unconditionally. Good things happen all the time.
“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

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