To All My Therapists
I spent the night putting out the fire alone. I saved the house. I was alone. I put every part of my being in it to save it without regard for death. I had no choice. I was stuck in the house.
I put out the fire.
I saved myself.
I sit alone in the middle of the room beaten down and exhausted, but I'm alive. I have nothing left.
You walk in. It gives me hope. Someone to see I just did the impossible alone.
To say, oh my god....what did you go through... I cannot believe you did this....who can see how terrifying it was, trapped, ready to die with no choice but to fight. you walked in and something in me had hope. the flicker of flame started again....small but there.
you didn't see the fight. you didn't see the exhaustion. you didn't see me slumped over the chair without the ability to lift my head. you didnt see the soul barely able to be alive. you walked in and a small flicker of hope ignited. You didn't see any of the struggle I survived. You didn't see the fire I put out. You didn't see that I saved myself. I saved the house.
You saw the ash on the walls. The burnt up floors. The charcoal, broken furniture and the roof crumbling.
you said I needed to take better care of my house. That I would have more energy if my space was clean. You gave me advice on what kind of soap to use to get the soot off myself.
I cried inside. I couldn't answer. I was to exhausted to explain what I had been through.
You pathologized my silence as something to fix.
The exhaustion became the problem.
The tired soul the issue.
You tried to lighten me by telling me about how easy it is to clean your house, that everyone struggles with order sometimes. That you have methods that work.
That flicker of hope extinguished I asked you to leave.
Surprised, you couldn't fathom why I no longer wanted your help.
Because you help so many people clean their house.