“Yeah? Writing down our emotions and thoughts is very helpful with clearing our minds, and is proven to help find patterns in our behaviours and reactions.”
My eyes flick between hers slowly. “I did it so I knew where to begin, but it’s not helped much.”
Her expression is soft as she crosses her leg over the other, and cups her hands around her knees. “Would you like to try? There is no rush. Or we can discuss something else.”
I glance down at the book and open the first page. The words are chaotic and messy, but they clearly represent my battlefield of a mind.
“I’ve left it so long,” I murmur. “It’s been years, and I thought it would get better, but it’s getting worse. I think I’m broken, and you can’t fix me.”
Gemma’s brows dip. “First of all, Evan, you’re not broken, and therefore, you don’t need fixing. And secondly, it’s never too late to start therapy. We’re all at different places in life, but what matters is that you’re here now.”
My lips purse as I nod.
“Could you tell me more about the notebook?”
“I suppose it’s helped me instead of hurting myself.”
“Are you currently harming yourself?”
Our eyes meet, and I freeze. Did I say the wrong thing?
“Will you take me away if I say yes?”
Gemma shakes her head. “No, I want to make sure that you’re not a danger to yourself.”
I sigh. “I haven’t hurt myself for like a month.”
“Okay, and have you had those urges recently?”
My shoulders raise and drop. “Sometimes, but I’m trying not to do it anymore.”
“That’s good. Do you have any distraction techniques you currently use?”
“Not any that work.”
She hums softly. “Okay, how do you feel about talking through some things you can do instead if you get those urges again?” Gemma suggests. “If you’re triggered or whatever it is. Distractions can get our minds out of that current thought process and get us back to calmness again.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“Some people like to punch pillows to release their frustrations, playing with rubber balls and squeezing them as hard as they can, snapping a band against their wrist, even scribbling down their emotions and then burning the piece of paper.”
My head tilts as I listen. “And they’ll help?”
“Everyone is different, Evan.” She offers a smile. “They might be worth trying and seeing what works for you. Hurting yourself isn’t the answer, but we can also digest your triggers and work through them to minimise the risks.”
My heart rattles inside my chest. “I-I think I’d like that.”
“Okay.” She shuffles in her seat. “How about we try to start from the beginning? But if you can’t, that’s fine. We’ll move on to the parts that you feel comfortable with.”
My fingers tremble as I hold onto my notebook.
“This is and always will be a safe space for you, Evan.” Her voice is delicate and warm. “And any time you need a break, let me know. Healing is a journey, not a race. So, let’s take everything nice and slowly, okay?”
“Yeah,” I rasp, eyes burning.
She holds out her hands and leans back in her seat. “Ready whenever you are.”
I didn’t expectto let half of the things I said come out. But Ava was right, once you start, it’s like you have word vomit. Like the words can’t come out fast enough, and if you don’t, then they’ll be sealed back up forever.
