Defeating myself

I'm my own terrorist. That's what I told my therapist today. Let's wind the clock back to yesterday where I was working at the kitchen. Like always, the dishes pilled up and I felt the tension in my back and mind. It's a deadly combination when your body and mind are attacking you. My back felt like it was about to break and my mind was ripping me apart for not writing. My inner critic always picks moments when I'm vulnerable to attack me. What was I to do? What should I do? I can't drop the silverware and go home to write. I'm too tired and I'm thiry minutes away from home. So I talked to my inner critic. I told him that I would listen to him later once the dishes were done. That seemed to quiet him a bit. It's strange because when you criticize yourself, it feels right because it comes from inside. It's almost as if I feel that it must be true because it comes from that inner voice. But not everything from inside is good. I don't know if I believe there are no bad parts inside of me, but I think there is a place for each of them given the approapriate time. Sometimes I wonder if anything I write has value, it's a thought that tortures me even as I look at my own work. But I was able to look at my inner critic and say "not now, later." This is a triumph for me because I usually tear myself to pieces. My therapist tells me that part of me is like a drill sergeant. He's training you so hard so you don't die on the battlefield. That's a good analogy. It's not like I'll get better by beating myself up while cleaning dishes. Tomorrow, I'm going to try and fix the story I worked on. Maybe something will come out of it.