The sky, endless and freeing; heavy with wave after wave of grey. Impending rain. Winds that blow with the determination of years of oppression. With the storms that brew on the outside, my insides find a bizarre sense of calm. Suddenly, feeling unrestricted; discombobulated. I sit awkwardly in that room. Heat like a suffocating blanket around me and I struggle with words. I managed to stumble through an hour long session and I feel like I don’t make any sense. She tries to sit in silence; let something come bubbling up. After all, I said I need to unload. I can`t manage it. Silence and me don`t get along. I stifle and kill silence every day. The sheer volume of it is overwhelming. I`m afraid of what might come out of that silence. I tell her this. I can’t be quiet. I have to fill that silence. If there was music, I could not talk. But that’s a whole other story.
I wake up at 3 am in a semi panic. How do I conjure up things to unload? How do I start talking about things I’ve buried so deep that I can’t remember how to start? I wonder if I’m just wasting everyone’s time. I tell her I’m in a good mood. I tell her with the coming of winter, my insides ignite. Something stirs alive within me. We talk about mini anger bursts and I tell her when that happened, I tell people the happy me is dead. The current angry me killed her. She asks me if the happy me is worth fighting for. I contemplate this for the rest of the day. I’m reluctant to admit out loud that if I lose this “drama” I won’t be me. Something vital will be lost and I’ll be normal and boring. I admit this latter part. I dream that she’s not listening. That there are different elements at play each session. I’m embarrassed to disclose this to her. It’s so cliché...I contemplate sanity every day. Being happy, calm, collected. The movie “Frankie and Johnny” runs through my mind. The end from “Devil’s Advocate.” Al Pacino asks Keanu Reeves to put down the sack of guilt. It will set him free. I think about my anger baggage. I can’t seem to let go of it. I fear if I let it go, I’ll stop breathing. Who will I be without it? Yet. I have no patience. Sometimes I think I’m just making this up to keep some sort of drama going.
I’m awake and not sure about how to start talking. I wonder how to bring it up. Everything in my head sounds so trivial and...what? It sounds lame. I’m lost in the help I’m seeking. I can’t find the right words to explain. In my head, words and thoughts swirl and stop making sense. They overwhelm me. There are too many words and I can’t pin point which ones I want to unleash.
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