Therapy

So…I need therapy. I used to be able to write my frustrations but right
now the blank white screen is intimidating, again. I just want to scream.
Since when did my own emotions and thoughts become so overbearing, too much
that a frantic writing session can’t solve? Why do words lack me except
in my head or shouted out with my voice, and even then.... I just want to
get these thoughts and feelings out. I want someone to listen, to know and
understand, and help. I think more than anything I just want someone to
understand. And not at all in a sympathetic way, but I want someone to
truly converse with who knows my inner most thoughts and dreams even before
I say them aloud. I want sincere and all-knowing understanding that a
simple stare says all the words in the world and sums up everything
that’s in me. Sadly, I’ve come to realize that this is an impossible
expectation and yet I still yearn.

I feel like I grapple with ordinary every day. The mundane eats at my
insides yet I contribute to it. I don’t know how to fix it. I feel like
a whale squeezed into a tiny goldfish bowl though obviously I’m too big.
So, really, all the bowl is doing is serving as a very difficult and
impossible task and a hard pain in my ass. I wonder how this happens;
how is it that my personality is destined for greater but my body is not?
How is it that I have this over-abundance of thoughts and emotions that
only, quite simply, scare people (even myself at times) yet that I know
I’m meant to have them even though no one knows what to do about them?
What is the purpose? I wish I can just call on God and he’d appear in
front of me like a Great Guide and I could see and touch his face and he
would give me the answers I seek and then he would blink every struggle
away with a single bat of his eyelids (if God has a face and eyelids, that
is…).

Why do I insist on dragging meaning out of everything? Why do simple
things make me happy? Why do simple things also make me mad or sad? Why,
why, WHY? The grass is green. The sun is warm. I play with his fingers
when I hold his hand. I stare in his eyes. I lay naked on a cotton
comforter. I open the window to let sunlight in. I turn up the music. I
smile at my favorite song. Every song is my favorite. It reminds me of
life, of love, of home. I love life. Love is everything. “Why?” is
always my question and the simple answer really is “Because.” It
exists to exist. You love by loving, you live by living. What you believe
is what you know. That is both faith and knowing combined. Knowing and
Faith is the same thing.

I wonder if I sound insane, or if I’ve stumbled upon a truth. I wonder,
if it’s true, how long it takes others to find it. Does anyone ever find
truth? Is truth definite or is it all just perception? Tainted a little
each time with each new pair of eyes looking upon it…like the Bible. So
much perception. Is perception the same as insight? Is insight the same
as knowing? I guess so, since, knowing is faith. Everything is faith.
Even love. Even life.

I’m thinking a huge debate would be going on right now if many were to
read this. Some would say “Yes, definitely needs therapy.” Others
would say, “No, not therapy, she needs church.” Maybe I need both, or
neither. Answers would be nice, but then mundane would settle in even
thicker than before. And probably sadness, too. I just want….
I want someone to listen. And not just a friendly ear to hear my troubles.
I want someone who makes me a part of them and understands. I want to not
feel so alone. Don’t get me wrong, I have friends and family with lots
of things in common. But I still feel as if, well, I feel too much. I
think too much. I want someone who not only understands and respects that
but falls in awe of it and can’t get enough and is the same way. This, I
have realized, is too much to ask as it seems impossible…and yet I still
yearn.


Always and Forever,

Shy Lee Zephyr