I walk out of the counseling clinic with hot tears streaming down my cheeks and put my hood up to try and cover my distress. I make it to my car without making eye contact, although I know everyone has been staring.

I get in, shut the door and finally let myself heavy sob. Ugly cry. A release of some of what I had been carrying.

Leading up to this moment, a lot of different things.

But the last straw that week was showing up to my therapist’s office needing support. She said hello and then proceeded to tell me after talking with her supervisor they had decided that since I was not diagnosable or a “billable” person they could not provide me services.

I stop and process what she’s just said, wondering if I heard her wrong, and knowing the mental health field well enough that I know she’s being serious. I am dysregulated as it is and my tears start flowing. The new therapist feels awkward and she keeps offering me water. I am embarrassed and pull it together long enough to be a “good beginning therapist myself” and tell her I understand the protocol. I messily pass on feedback about the lack of a trauma informed approach, the danger in having clients share their story and then declining them services, and to perhaps re-consider their agreement to provide counseling students services… as many of us are “high functioning”. Last I add, it would be nice to have received a phone call versus driving downtown to be told this. She nods. Expresses, she understands.

How is it that ironically, I feel bad for the therapist?

I ask if there is a backdoor so at least I can avoid meeting the eyes of those waiting in the waiting room with my flushed face and tears running down my face. I walk hurriedly towards the Exit.

So, I leave, and here we are again back in my car. I run through who I can call…. Realizing that I am the helper in most of my relationships. My sister and her fiancé just broke up, next on the list my friend who is likely getting out of knee surgery as my brain processes this, my mom… who has been supporting my sister all day, my brother … ( we aren’t talking), my roommate .. she’s been caretaking her sister for the last two months, my friend back in the Midwest.. I text her , big exam to study for, she would totally talk if I needed, I’m too proud. My friend I had plans with for the day.. cancelled also feeling anxious and needing time to herself.

So, I cry  a bit longer, stuff it back down enough to drive safely, get home. Take a hot shower, cry some more, journal and cope the best way I know how. Truly, I am fine. Truly, not the end of the world..

But does it need to be this complicated for those of us in helping roles? For anyone who may have challenging days and need support?

Who is to blame? Insurance companies, the government?

Maybe this is the problem with the way we view mental health in America and maybe this is why we are the sickest society in all of history.

but wait, not quite sick enough, right?

Can’t find a label in the DSM so that person will be fine on their own.

Oh society, need us not be on our knees before being allowed to ask for help.

Current day.

I live in a country that claims we are equal.

Perhaps the largest of all the lies

Destroying lives
If even to only gain a penny
Individual gains at the sacrifice of many

I remember hearing stories of something called kindness once long ago
Although the importance is vague
And quickly fading

Flash forward.

What were once green meadows, now filled with trash.
Newspapers providing the storyline leading up to this bleak ending.

I keep my child close .
I shift her mask closer to her face.

I tell her of times I would run free through these same meadows

She nods, but I can tell she can’t even begin to imagine what I am describing.

The end.

You speak of concrete jungles full of unknown
You speak of the last time and darkness that did unfold.

How you’d nearly lost yourself there. In the city lights and noise.  

How you can be surrounded by people and feel so alone
How a house doesn’t make a home


I know your tiring of the road
Wish I could soothe your worries
All I can offer is what I know

I won’t hurt you like she did
Wandering the streets without hope
Black notebook full of black tears made with black pens





I wont hurt you like she did.

a year.
winter, spring, summer,fall.

normally I'd be packing my bags

preparing to leave.

some ******* statement about growth and the next adventure

as
   i
     walk
         out
           the
               door

my trend.


I guess I could stay awhile longer

but that would involve commitment.

and futuristic thinking

(Which is ******* scary for me)

reflecting: I've ran a lot.

why?

I find it simpler

less messy

committment involves giving more of myself

                                           committment involves vulnerability

and perhaps what I find even more terrifying

committment requires

                                                            hope.

Sitting at my desk
Yet another day jobless

Another day to wake up and become hopeful
Only to find myself discouraged


Go to college they said
Get a job they said

Well, I’ve done this
And I’ve done that

And now here I am
25 years old

broke;
discouraged;

attempting to figure out
what the hell I am supposed to be learning from all this?

Resilience
They say

Embrace the struggle
They say

You just have to want it
They say

Well, I’ve done this
And I’ve done that

Sitting at my desk
Yet another day jobless

And it is not that I need you
Yet I crave you .

I crave you in the most intimate way

I long for nights of deep conversation

Watching the sun rise , with my fingers (or legs ) entangled in yours

Two souls

Dancing

Becoming one

Intoxicated.
by the curves of your mouth

Moving south

Down the curves of my body

a new month
       an almost full moon
a new chapter?

feeling less stifled

not sure if I am feeling less lost.

trying to appreciate the journey

lately,

realizing,

the path chosen
    may be more lonely
        than previously pictured.

remoteness.

Regardless,

I walk on