Shame

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Sometimes the worst feeling that comes with having a mental illness is shame. After my husband died, I was no longer able to hide my illnesses.  I was unable to work full time because of my PTSD,  anxiety, depression and agoraphobia.  Then, I  disappointed myself and a lot of people when I ended up in the psych ward several months ago after overdosing on valium. I’ve been trying to write a post about this for some time now and was unable to because I was feeling so deeply ashamed.  But not today. I’m not sure why.  Perhaps it is due to my latest therapy session with my new therapist Annie. (I moved and had to change therapists after seventeen years).  I was a mess during it. Anxious and wringing my hands, I had feelings in front of her that I normally only have alone. Closing my eyes and rubbing my left eyebrow incessantly, I spoke of infinite anxieties, my feelings of deep shame, haunting dreams and the past that won’t let me go. But, I didn’t feel shamed or judged by her, just understood and accepted.  This has allowed me  to forgive myself a bit.  I still see the cone of shame, but it sits over in a corner.  I am no longer wearing it.

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