I think Louise was surprised tonight at how upbeat I was (do people who are happy also go to therapists? It seems a bit like inviting a plumber around when there’s nothing wrong with the pipes, but maybe there are those who were unhappy but now they’ve gotten over it just go to continue having a chat. It’s a fix they can’t break). Having spent the weekend largely at Julie’s I had avoided my flat, while being with her seems to stop the dreams. Therefore there was a freshness to me, a joviality that Louise maybe hadn’t seen before.
In the event we spent a lot of time talking about my book, and how it was written the last time I was depressed and contains huge echoes of that. (Even if one produces a horror story about a Faustian pact, it can still be personal). Louise told me that a good thing some therapists recommend is writing down one’s problems, as you can of course see them more clearly in black and white. It didn’t feel like it at the time (I wrote it in the white heat of unhappy misery) but maybe the whole thing did me a lot of good. Maybe this blog is also doing me good, as despite all my moaning so far this year, I now feel happy, with a nice girlfriend and a holiday ahead. Okay, there are moments of paranoia and I’m sure there will be more dreams, but I can work on that.
Now if only I could lose the sense that if everything is so good, it’s bound to go wrong shortly.
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