In the last few months, I’ve been meeting a mental health counsellor more or less once a week. Since moving into this place back in December, my thoughts have once again caught up with me as they did before I left my home town, and the more I think and speak, the more things I realize.
As much as I tried to paint things in a positive light about my family, and as much as I tried to stay on their good side for some potential support while I was homeless, it’s come to my realization no longer being reliant on them that none of them were innocent.
My parents, to say the least, are the main reason I’m in a new city, but I’ve come to realize that my extended family supports my abuser more than she does me.
This counselling has really helped me realize how bad things truly were, as much as I hate to admit and try to be humble and soft-spoken of it all. At this point I’m just so used to being indifferent about it all that I don’t know how to properly deal with it. Hopefully now this counselling will teach me how to cope, and with what it’s done so far, I trust it to do so.
