Dear Therapist

Dear Therapist.

As I checked another ungodly checklist off my schedule this week

As I utilized

Every resource available to me.

As I started shifting into “healthy”

I felt something that I’ve felt a million times.

And never had a name for.

I fucked it up.

On purpose.

Which I do

I just didn’t know why.

Until now.

And now that I do.

I can’t stop crying.

I slipped back into it.

The smile. The grace. The ease with which

I accomplish so much

In so little time.

I eased right back into the performance.

And I got scared.

Because I didn’t want you to look at me like I had it all together.

And leave me.

I wanted you to believe me.

When I said I was in pain.

So I created it.

Dear therapist.

I don’t know how to keep you

If I’m okay.

Dear therapist.

I don’t want therapy to work.

At least not on the physical plane.

I don’t want therapy to leave me alone again.

Dear therapist

I don’t want to intentionally put myself in pain anymore.

Just so someone will listen.

I don’t want to have to self destruct

To deconstruct

The concept you have of the beautiful me

Right in front of of your eyes

Dear therapist

I’m scared that when I do what I so naturally do

And help

I’ll lose you.

Dear therapist.

Don’t leave me.

Dear therapist.

I know what to call it now.

It’s not self sabotage

It’s not repeating a broken cycle

It’s not imposter syndrome.

It’s a deep need to be seen.

To be seen not for what I can offer so easily.

But to be seen for

My years of war.

Dear therapist.

Don’t believe the lore.

Please just take a moment.

To believe there is more.

To me.

Than a need to be seen.

There is years of tragedy.

And a couch with my name on it.

Dear therapist.

Don’t quit.

I am more than meets the eye.