The bottomless bucket

I've been seeing a counsellor for the last two weeks.
Just a short diversion for anyone who happens to read this and have never been to a counsellor. Counsellors are paid ears. Say and voice all of your crap in the time you have because you are paying for it. Use every second to dissect and wrestle with your demons, they are paid to assist you and give you perspective on your life BUT you must participate and be open to all that you reveal and learn. Bear your soul and become alive, rush in where the angels fear to tread and shine a light on all of your internal horrors, you will survive, you already have:)
I dont understand people who go to see a counsellor and say nothing, twiddle their thumbs and wonder why they dont feel helped or relieved. I go into every session with a mental list of what I want to talk about, things that I want to tear apart and put back together, explore my glitches and my weaknesses, my darkness and my light, my sorrows and my sleepless beast.
In the past week I have cried in the middle of shopping for bread, while talking to warehouse owners, factory managers, in the local shop and while eating dinner. I thought I was doing so well, I seriously pondered that and really believed that I was coping, really coping. Deluded is the word I would use to describe myself, deluded with a smile. Of course there is massive grief, I am not coping, I cry. I am in denial:) A safe bubble of nothingness, where no emotion exists and there is no pressure to function beyond getting up and greeting those around me with enough conviction to get by. My she's coping well I hear them say ......my my my what a load of bullocks.
Its ok now, I realise that I just had shut it all away, put my emotions in a locked box and pretended that there was no pain. There is pain, there are tears, there are moments of great sadness, I am grieving. I cry to release, I cry to express my pain, I cry because it feels better, I cry to expend that awful energy that hangs with my grief. I rage and I rant and I cry.
I do it because I want to feel better.
I am exhausted tonight, I am tired because I opened so many boxes and looked inside with horror and sadness. I remembered and my heart broke all over again. I am applying salve as we speak. My wounds are raw and painful but I know they are healing.
Sleep, sleep, turning down the volume on the parts of me that live in disquiet. Hush, those parts of me that shiver and whine. Sleep, be gentle and sleep.