Feeling utterly dire, struggling to keep head above water. During my counselling session  we got round to POWER   Not my choice but we got there. It’s ABOUT MY FEAR OF MY POWER.

It’s about me being subject to misuse of power as a child, and recently whilst I was incarcerated in a psychiatric hospital. My counsellor is saying I am afraid that I am fearful I am/could misuse my power, my power as a friend, as an employee, as a  colleague.

Let’s face it I’m practically afraid of my own shadow sometimes. It’s one of those “duh” moments, I am so blinking afraid of any power I have, afraid in case I hurt someone, afraid in case I damage someone as a representative of my employer.


I feel as something momentous has happened, not sure I can survive it.Struggling to talk about it.Desperate to try and make sense of it,but cant explain it. Tried Sams but all the wrong voices,one right voice ,but I think they they thought I’d lost the plot. OK,maybe correct………?

I guess it is one of those things that make sense,but so very very frightening. If I say things or challenge or exert any pressure on someone I get so scared,. It puts my fear and sometimes terror of work in a place that makes sense,I kind of understand why I get that sinking feeling on Sunday morning, The feeling that turns into,

“I might have to die because I can’t face work tomorrow” It is that strong. OK, it sometimes gets easier as the week goes on. Sounds really over the top doesn’t it, but it’s real.

A bag of rubbish saved me from facing a life or death decision. Came in from first day back at work after holiday break. My mind was still mainly back in the place I was in a year ago. My mind was not on the work a day world. It was one of these days when every internal fear I have was challenged and I was wilting. Quite simple, I couldn’t cope, too much, out over the balcony. Walked in the front door, dropped my bags on a chair, few steps to the balcony door.

Suddenly realised the kitchen held a bag of rubbish I hadn’t put in the chute. Suddenly I had to put the rubbish out, didn’t want anyone seeing the rubbish when they broke in after I had died. How is it that my mind took on such a concern? Was it that simple? If the rubbish wasn’t there would I have finished my life?

I guess I am almost at a point when I don’t know if I can keep going. Since my counselling session I feel physically exhausted and emotional drained no reserves. Wish I just go and hide somewhere for a while.

Dream world would see me in a house, near a beach, with one or two others, talking, drinking wine, swimming, eating well going to noisy pubs and restaurants. No dream world for me.

Next couple of weeks are going to be such a test. I have a family funeral next week. It’s going to be one of the biggest tests of my life.



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