I started counseling again yesterday. I don’t know what I expect to gain here, but I knew that I needed to try. She told me that she wanted me to write down some goals that I have for this counseling thing, and to bring them next week. Goals?
Why I want you to fix me, ma’am! I want you to unwrap me from this defective package and give me a new one. I want to shine! I want to be cured! Those are my goals, can you do that?
Problem is, she can’t do that. She wants me to write things down like “I want to be less anxious,” or “I want to learn how to cope with my sadness in more productive ways.” You know, obtainable goals. Things she can actually try to help me with.
But I can’t do it. I don’t want to “be less anxious.” I want to not have days like yesterday, where the world punches me in the face with fear and I twist and turn with anger and helplessness and I am no longer in control and I cry out and I push my husband and I know he is cheating on me and I know the boogeyman is coming to get me and and and I’m too fucking crazy to live, so kill me.
Yeah, I want less of those.
So I guess, for now, I’ll just sit in my corner and try to think up how to tell my new therapist that my goals won’t be like everyone else’s. They won’t be easy, I don’t want easy. I would honestly just prefer to be gutted and replaced. Sometimes I feel like the mountain is too damn high to climb, and other times I feel like I don’t even have legs, and the climb would be impossible. If that is true, then what the hell am I still fighting for?