My therapist says I'm doing really well and when she says it, she makes eye contact and her posture is relaxed and I didn't even mention her tone yet but think of your mother when you've been heartbroken for the first time if you're the kind that has been heartbroken and if your mother is a soft one but mine is and I am and she was like that.
Her tone was that of my mother when I was heartbroken for the first time.
why can't we just be friends?
(why are you doing this? why can't being friends be enough? i don't have anything more to give you why do you keep trying to tear me apart, why are you looking for more. why am i not enough)
you're worrying me
(i don't know how to help)
please talk to someone, anyone.
(i can't be your therapist, you don't listen to me, you don't care, you just keep throwing me into the horrible reaches of my psyche and hurling words shaped from barbed wire and sharpened steel, expecting me to take every hit and then take all of yours.)
this isn't healthy and it might be more than i can help you with
(i can't help myself how can i help you?)
wait, i'm sorry, please don't leave
(god we both need so much help.)
who will keep the keepers?
we are the patron saint of broken souls, bearing the weight of the sorrows of others; yet who will carry ours?
who dares to hold us up when our hearts are too heavy for the chests that carry them?
we are the menders of broken minds, we fix the fragmented psyche; but who will sew our tattered edges?
november 14th, 2014
the lament shared between sisters, empaths, and psychologists.
I sat on that couch,
Sipping tea that made me gag, too sweet,
Feeling the the small blade in my back pocket,
Weighing me down, pulling me in,
And I cried.
"You're not depressed"
How would you know how I feel?
"Just a hormone imbalance"
You're not a doctor... I've only said a sentence.
I only said Four Words
You don't know the numbness drawing me in
You don't know how I can't feel my wrists
You don't know I'm almost constantly nauseous
You don't know how I wake up in the middle of the night crying
You don't know how I shake uncontrollably in fear when I think
You don't know how I can't look in the mirror without hating what I see
You don't know how I scream into my pillow, scared of myself and terrified of everything else
You just don't know.
How can you?
I went to a therapist I've seen since I was in 8th grade because of my homework, but I honest with her for the first time
— The End —