I don't need a therapist, I am my own fucking therapist

(Carpe's therapy sessions)

Makes you question how our ancestors dealt with their problems. What with this days reliance on the temporary soloution, that pharmakia band aid. It is sad, people want the quick fix, rather than face their problems.
This notion of (un)civil society that requires everyone to have a label, be neatly and orderly filed. Heaven forbid you don't fit these norms, fit the square peg, carbon copy.
Oh you are an individual and see things differently. You must be broken, we have pills and buildings to lock and hide you away.

Oh please
I think how therapy would have been, in our tribal ancestors days.
I would go walkabout to find my self, perhaps do some psychedelics, go on a vision quest. Then with the aid of the tribe and elders, discuss my findings and visions.

Today though, our connection with nature, with source and tribe has all but been severed.
________________________________

Back to the therapy carpe. Right you are...

So if my Polish friend Rob is like my brother. Max my Latvian mate is the daddy father figure.
His positivity infectious, one can not help but smile and laugh, when he is around.
He is very deep and intelligent, but he speaks chinglish because he is too lazy to learn English (his words).
I've asked him to teach me some Latvian, in exchange for me teaching him some aussie English (basically swearing alot).

Now Max was the first person I told about the 'rape'. Don't know why, he just happened to be there. We had been talking about the damage to the house.
The guy had graffitied the walls, writing some pretty obscene stuff, my laptop had been smashed into pieces. The place was trashed, something you might expect to see in a war zone. A part of me wanting to burn the thing to the ground... Cry and move on.
The look on his face, something I will never forget. Mix of sad bemused anger,.

What he said though, after perhaps five minutes (could have been hours) silence.

He says
" I am sorry, this is definitely my fault"
No Max, this not your fault, you didn't put a gun to his head, tell him to fuck me or else.
If anyone is to blame it is me, for having my guard down and inviting him in.

No mate, neither of us are to blame. The choice was his and his alone. Just as the consequences and karma, in the end will be on him.

Max has been with me for weeks now. I guess staying to make sure... What I'm not sure, maybe so I'm not alone, don't fall off the edge, do something stupid.
Not that I would, I am 'OK', at least in my head(knowing full well am anything but).
His treats (mostly speed sometimes weed) are a welcome distraction, though speed would probably not even be my third choice, for use as a crutch to deal with what the fuck has happened.
Free drugs are like free hugs, and
beggars can't be choosers.
It's not like I've been sleeping lately. Even closing my eyes for an hour or two, proves difficult. Until the body shuts down that is.

I can only imagine how me telling Max about all this has effected him...
Some nights we talk...
Some we just sit in silence..
Others I break down from the weight of it all
Me trying to put back together something that was stolen.