Wednesday, February 27, 2008


I wrote, quite some months ago, about Relationship/Couple Counselling.
I remember reading (I think on Relate's website) that because most couples see therapy as a last resort, they can leave it almost too late, when everything becomes harder to fix.

At the same time, I also wrote:
Recently, a day or two ago, someone suggested to me that if our regular PST appointment still didn't become available this week, that I should go talk to someone myself. At the time, it did seem an almost silly idea. Now I'm not so sure.

I think that my first statement above applies just as much to individual counselling, too. All the signs were there. I had a chilling reminder of this less than a year ago, but again, I failed to act.

I was aware of the terrifying enormity of what I did to Quna from the moment I had done it, and I knew that it was something that I, and only I, could be responsible for.

I contacted my GP the next morning to discuss counselling, and am now on their waiting list. It sounds like the counsellor attached to the surgery has a long list, so I have also contacted one place that I have had suggested by my GP, and one that I found on BACP.

Some of the things I have seen inside me scare me.

My behaviour sometimes, not just to Quna, but to other friends too, has been abysmal, shocking, and downright childish.

None of this is up for debate.

If you, reading this, are someone that I care about and I have ever hurt you, than I am sincerely sorry.

I have a lot to learn, and a lot to unlearn.

Friday, February 22, 2008

Lessons from Icarus

The ups were dizzying. They were beautiful and incredible; we soared through the sky together, and when we looked down, we could no longer see the ground.

We encouraged each other to be all we could be, and we grew together and in ourselves.

The downs, too, were dizzying. They were terrifying and scary; they dragged us down with fear, and when we looked up, we could not see the sky.

We both became people that were not ourselves, and it was horrifying.

We love each other, but this is self-destructive.

I shall not mourn the loss of the dizzying downs.

I shall greatly mourn the loss of all the beautiful, beautiful things that we experienced together.

We have to take two steps apart to lose those extremities, and see what we have left as friends.

It is intensely difficult to look at someone you love, to feel the memory of the past highs, the hopes of those future, and to feel that you are sacrificing all of that glorious beauty. But this is not a sacrifice. It is a preservation. It is a preservation of something so beautiful, we could not bear to see it be destroyed.