I have a coworker who deals with deep depression. He's been through shit. We've shared our war stories. We were both born into traumatic homes. We both came to the conclusion that if you experience enough fucked up shit in your life, you're content with having very little when you come out of it.
The silence was enough.
I was content.
But...
Did it ever get silent, though? Where did the fireworks go? When you're raised around fireworks, I guess you grow up looking for them.
Fuck it; let's do talk therapy.
I think around 7-8 years ago, I was having dinner with Wendy, Jenny and Shelley. I remember bragging that I was able to cry on command. In retrospect, I shoulda figured out I had issues then and there.
The problem, though, was that I never used that simple trick again... that is, until I used it on my therapist.
What's the trick you ask?
To be continued...
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