I took a call from a help-seeker, an under 16-year-old girl, who thought she might be a paedophile. In my head, a paedophile conjures an image of a balding white male who drives a white van. The paedophile I was talking to was 14, in High School, and struggling to admit what her fantasies meant.
When my internal dialogue slips into the negative realm (of despair), I believe its the best opportunity to prod myself with mental enquiries: why is life “life”? What do you want to do with your existence? Does it matter anyway? I suppose I am torturing myself, but it returns some of the best insights into my life. I am fortunate enough to be capable...