I’m trying really hard to be okay. But I only have three sessions left with my therapist and frankly, I’m not sure that’s going to be enough.
Sometimes I feel so sure. So confident that everything is going to be okay. So secure that I’ve got this all figured out. At least as well as anyone can, and frankly, probably better than most. Sometimes I feel so in control and so perfectly imperfect. Sometimes I feel like life will go my way and everyone should stand back and be amazed because I’m everything a person should be.
And sometimes it takes so much damn work to just speak above a whisper. To feel like my voice has a place in the madness. Sometimes I just can’t muster up a smile or the energy to make you happy. Sometimes I feel like I might never fit, I might never be the right thing. Maybe I’ll spend my life as a very square peg trying to fit into too round of a hole.
Maybe it just takes more work than I want to admit. And maybe nobody ever really gets it right. A sad Picasso can still paint sunflowers. I feel like there are a million possible solutions. And all I need is one. Just one to start working.
I can do this.