My fifth set of twelve prescribed sessions of psychoanalytic therapy has terminated. Since then, this image has played over and over in my mind like a broken record.

 

Choosing a heavy block of cold clay, I begin working it until it starts to contort, begrudgingly growing into a genderless, disfigured ‘thing’. The gormless mouthless face screams out hopelessly as it senses the ground, pulling it down.

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I wonder if others feel the same. The exhaustion of experiencing another cycle of failure is crippling. It represents the often-silent ugliness and struggle within recovery.

 

However, what I have learnt from these workshops is the incredible resilience all survivors have despite this battle. The light, at its core, is demonstrable of this.