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Ginn Mosxa Oct 14
It's not the end of me.
It was
A punch to the gut,
Throw me in a rut
Kind of feeling
If you must know
I did cry
Much like the day we met
But just as you've said
I know I've grown since
3 whole years have passed
It felt so fast
Growing with you as I did
I'd never be here now
If you hadn't stepped in

So I thank you,
For all the days
Though you were paid
You cared all the same
My greatest teacher
Biggest cheerleader
We had something grand
But now
It's all in my hands

I wish you the best
Your aid I'll never forget
With love, Gin.
A letter to my (ex) therapist. I'm going to be okay.
M Sep 21
It scorched the Earth beneath my feet,
Forever tainted and augmented how I experience my world,
the world around me.

Things look different. Taste odd. Sound funny.

You can never go back. Never undo.

What's done is done.

And now,
Well, now,
You must live in the aftermath.

There has only ever been the aftermath.
  
The before time was a story you'd tell yourself to sleep better
        at night.
Stories of being Loved, Seen, Cared for, Known.
All fairytales that you'd gorge yourself on,
Imagine living in.

Anything to take away the pain,
Anything to make the loneliness stop.

As you grew, you leaned on other things to take away the
        feelings: cutting, eating, distracting, dissociating.

Make it numb.
Make it tolerable.                    
Livable.
It hardened you.
Broke parts of you.
While the world around you continued to take.

You tried to stay afloat.

Sometimes, flirting with the idea of going under,
Wishing and praying to let the waves wash you away.
Never letting them.

Always trying.
                        
Trying to rebuild from the rubble at your feet.

Some time, along the way, forgetting,
                                                                ­   it wasn't your bomb.
                                                           ­                                       
                                     You didn't detonate.

It wasn't your dilapidated, abused house - you Just lived there.

It wasn't.
It isn't.
It wasn't your fault.
It never was.
Wrote this after therapy. It is Never your fault.
Nicx Aug 14
I'm walking to therapy
The sun is hot on my black clothing
I feel calm as i let my mind wander
I wonder what I'll talk about today
I could discuss my relationship
Since its been a bit rocky lately
Or I could talk about harder stuff
Like you
I could talk about you

Just the thought dries my lungs out
Takes my breath away from me again
You're always doing that
The buildings around me feel taller now
More suffocating, closing in around me
And the office, I can see is just 2 blocks down,
Suddenly stretches like a band
Pulling further away from me
With a tension that makes me dizzy
Its like im walking down a tunnel and
The soles of my shoes feel like boulders
Weighing me down, throwing off my balance
I don't want to get there now
I no longer feel real
Thoughts of you change everything
I don't want to talk about you
And that's exactly why I need to
neth jones Jul 11
reminded of my hurt youth
             that never did quell

reprimand the cowardly self

should have sought
    correction from the harm
                that stoppered me

but i was too embarrassed
            to be met in therapy
R M May 10
in the dark depths
of despair i thought
of joining you

aching with grief
as if struck too
i was lost in the
loss of you

but pain doesn't heal
hurt and more death
can't bring us to life

so i carry you inside
because as long
as i love you
you're alive
if you talk
about it
they'll tell you
its just a case
of centring yourself
before
it builds up;
placing yourself
in the moment
and understanding
what cannot be changed

except
there is
no progression
no steady curve
it goes from
a carefully traced line
to a scratched
scrawling scribble
that tears
through leaf
after leaf
of paper
whether the message
is legible
or not

apparently
        its simple;
in that split second
between empathy
        and apathy
before the destruction
of everything
outweighs
the strength
of all
that has been
accomplished
i simply need
to breath deep
and
count
           to
                ten

i'm still waiting
to be told
what to do
when my count
reaches ten
and
i'm still
angry
Ingram Jan 25
I don’t know if therapy
legitimately helped me stand tall
or just get better at covering up
the moments when I mentally fall.
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