Fucking intense therapy

I enter the room ready to run,

Stall sitting down whilst I panic, again

It’s not getting easier.

If there’s a silence, I have so much to say

It gets stuck in my head and the words don’t come out

Sometimes I can say it and force it out

It gets stuck in my throat and I can’t breathe properly.

I’m scared.

Terrified.

It’s so hard, I wonder why I keep coming.

And why does it feel like a huge tidal wave

Smashing over my body, I’m drowning in my own layers of thoughts and words, tumbling round inside my head.

It’s too awkward and foreign and feels fucking horrific.

Why can’t I sit and just say everything?

Why can’t I be normal? Whatever the fuck that is?

I’ll go on the floor and take off my shoes,

My angle will help if I don’t sit straight on,

I can feel myself calm, I can focus on breathing

If I just make myself talk, it can be all OK.

If I write things down, they flow easily out,

The words are like life jackets saving me

From myself, drowning, alone, deep in my head.

I think that I must be hard to help heal,

I know that you try so hard to help me feel,

Safe and grounded and at ease with this thing,

That I want to do so much.

But why do I stop myself,

What do I fear,

You not giving a shit and then you’ll disappear.

I have to care less about someone than they,

Do about me or otherwise the day,

May come when I’m rejected and left,

All alone to feel like no one cares,

So I learnt and I learnt 

That I need not care,

I’ll pretend but inside,

I’ll keep free as a bird,

I’ll never ever let anyone in,

To the core of my centre, where the hurt is locked in.

But I know there’s a key,

And it’s sitting right here,

The thing I fear most

What will bring the most tears,

Is feeling that hurt

And letting it out

Feeling that fear

Of opening up

Of exposing my core

And all that entails

Of being courageous and risking the chance

Of opening up to give healing a chance

Of letting you help me

Of letting you in

Of maybe sitting closer

Of ignoring the din

Of the voices that tell me

I can’t do this,

I’m fine,

Just get up and leave,

Just stay as you are,

Who the fuck needs to breathe 

In this intense air

In this room with you

But I know that actually I really do.

I want to

I need to

The voices have served

Me well for the past 40 odd years

But they need to fuck off

I don’t need them now

It’s ok to cry, talk, draw, write and just be

It’s ok to feel that in that room it is ‘we’.

I think what might help me

Is mixing it up,

Can you sit on the floor

And have something to do,

Stones, paper or anything,

To take away

The wall of intensity that engulfs my way

Can you start it off,

Ask, say, joke or wonder,

I can’t find my voice when I’m all in a ponder

As to what to say and where to look

My brain hits the panic button

All I think and feel is, ‘Ahhhh FUCK!’

But if you take the lead,

Yeh I might think, ‘whatever’,

But then I’ll be talking, responding and able,

To stay out of my head in the room that contains

The person I trust,

To help me get rid of my pain.