#therapists
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.
Jan 24, 2019
Jan 24, 2019 at 2:31 PM UTC
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
I
Think
I'm
Depressed
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?
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 2:24 PM UTC
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?
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 3:26 PM UTC
People dream of being a scientist
Meanwhile, I wish to be a therapist,
Not for the foolish mortals
But for the myriad-glittering stars;
Thousands of years apart
They're lonely, are they not?
I'd like to listen to their flares,
Be a being that for them cares,
And find a cure for their despairs.
Isn't that absurd?
A longing that this life couldn't approve.
Nov 8, 2024
Nov 8, 2024 at 3:37 AM UTC
The hush of blankets over sheets is not a comfort to me.
Push it off later and later until he
tells me he’ll make it himself. Reflexively,
I take this pardon selfishly.
For getting up feels a lot like giving in,
and when I lay down I know the ache will begin again.
Here’s the trend:
I’ll close my eyes but all too soon I’ll open them—
that’s the danger in my head,
sometimes I wish I never had to open them.
Don’t tell Melanie,
It’ll turn into a thing and then she
will turn to her notes and tell me
that ideation is a self fulfilling prophecy.
But the prophecy is a part of me,
to separate it won’t turn it to nothing.
I promise you I’m trying
but the answer is hidden under lock and key.
He’s pulling back the covers;
expects me to slip under.
But in sleep, I do not find comfort.
Nov 12, 2025
Nov 12, 2025 at 6:20 PM UTC