The other day the therapist was really making it a point about how I wasn’t contemptible, using my thoughts and feelings as examples, and the next day, when I was pretty much determined to blow the session, he said to me, “u know, I’ve been thinking of another word to describe how u are feeling that isn’t broken or damaged.”
“Lost”, he says, “You are lost.”
Although he is right, it’s nothing new. And just like someone lost in the woods or a city, they try one direction for a few steps or even miles, then head back and start again, or abruptly pitch off into another angle. They end up in circles, grope for what’s familiar or, in turn, embrace desperately something new. But in the end, lost is lost, and I have no direction to follow, I have no guide, no one to rest on, to carry any of this for me. And I am tired. I am tired of being this way, of being this flawed, of beating myself up and feeling much too much to the point where I am defeated and numb. I am tired. I am sick of the sight of me, I am tired of the stench.