Yesterday, on ye olde Twittere, I posted:

The process of therapy is akin to refitting a war factory for peacetime production.

Not to toot my own horn, but the more I think about this metaphor, the more I like it.

A war factory would contain all kinds of machinery for perpetuating conflict, violence, and destruction… and there always seem to be buyers.

Refitting any factory is difficult, but a war factory is particularly so–especially if you want to make sure that the factory is never again turned toward evil purposes… that you, the owner of the factory, are not responsible for perpetuating the war for yet another generation.

This metaphor was provoked by something we approached in therapy yesterday. There is a box, the contents hidden from my cognition… and those that know the contents are too afraid to speak right now.

We will uncover this, in time… after all, it’s been over 30 years of life being lived without power or knowledge, with only the past 6 months spent trying to unravel what goes on in my head.