my therapist told me i'm a good storyteller
I bounce around therapists a lot. Not sure why. I think because I prefer them left-wing and those skew young. Sometimes they get pregnant, often they start their own practice I can't afford. But every 18 months or so, it's a new person.
So, I have a way of introducing myself now, to every new therapist. A speech I give that makes it easier to slice my own chest open and hand them my beating heart to inspect.
I made trauma rankings. I tell them every horrible thing about me, in a internet-friendly numbered list. And I tell jokes about my pain. I coat all the worst things that have ever happened to me in syrup. And it works. I can stand to tell it, even as tears and snot drip down my face. They can stand to hear it.
And each time my new therapist will ask follow-ups and probe a little deeper, but ultimately say, "you're a good storyteller". And I say thank you.
But that's not the point. The stories protect me. They're not real. They're a glossy AI emalgimation of all the messy disgusting goo that's just under the surface. It's not real, but its an approximation. It's enough to start.
I understand the world in narrative. So I am always telling a story. Details missing, facts smudged. But I'll tell a good story. But maybe I should stop doing that in therapy.