What my therapist suggests

What is it that we believe we are doing? How many different ways are there in which we can be shaken in, to finally see reality?

I. My therapist talks about self-love like it’s a pill I should take daily.

Maybe she doesn’t know what I know. Some of us are just too obsessed with ourselves. So obsessed that there is no attention left for anyone else. We’ve taken “self-love” so seriously that this narcissism now has eaten up and emptied whatever humility we had. In a world where everyone lives to be seen, liked, double-tapped, hearted, snapped, it is scary to imagine how we’ll all die without anyone ever knowing what we hide inside.

II. She asks me to think positive. To be optimistic.

Maybe she doesn’t know what I know. Whenever I try (oh I try so hard), with every prayer I make, full of lies I want to believe in and I wish would come true, has less of me and so much of you. The pieces of me are so scattered, that ‘home’ is just a funny word I don’t like to use anymore. With every major blow, I convinced myself, that maybe losing everything is the only right way to figure out what’s worth finding. For why do I stop if I am not enough or am too much for someone? Looks like you should stop and never revisit.

 

III. She asks me to not worry. To be with friends.

Maybe she doesn’t know what I know. Friends, they have the potential to make or break you, and who needs one when you’re already fucking shattered. I tell her how I really appreciate solitude but she probably doesn’t know how I sometimes touch the coastline of loneliness. I look for space when I am with more than two people, and I desperately look for any sound other than my own breathing when I am alone. I take everything to heart and she doesn’t how many nights go by just staring at the white ceiling above my head in silence.

IV. Find your passion she says. Do something you love.

Maybe she doesn’t know what I know. I had one deep, meaningful love and it’s gone now. It took me with it. I’ve reached rock bottom and I’m only digging further. She’s stopped telling me that it’s going to get better, because it may just get worse from here. I’ll carry your hate, just like I carry everything else, and keep digging until there’s nothing more to dig and bury it there with my hollow self.

 

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