I thought a lot about therapy these last few months/years.
It is hard to go into a person’s space and try and explain what it is like for me to live in my own space which is not my own yet one that this society makes is believe is my/our own
yet not to label people by what they look like
even if they are what they look like
and not to trust our judgments
yet to trust our judgements
and to make our own decisions
and our own thoughts about life
when the thoughts we have are fleeting strings disattached from reality
and we can string together anything.
how does one do this life thing?
I had it all figured out so young
and then I had to fit into this world
and I had to comply with its rules in order to not stand so far out
and be spotted as something so different
and that process wore down my shell which was my home
and now I am not a turtle with the shell on her back
I am more the thing that crawled out of it
like the hermit crab
but I am not able to find the right fit of my shell
I am in a tank with those painted idiotic pieces from some dine store shit hole
and I am stuck with my lot.
Yet, I was;t eaten
I have a home
I am fed
I have a shell - just not one that I like
and I keep trying to make it work
or I keep switching
something just isn;t right
and I can’t find my stuff in here.
Where am I?
I feel like the girl from The Secretary might have had the same feelings.
Who am I with all this other stuff inside
I feel so fine when I am alone inn y room with my secret box of comfort.
trying to fit in.
She fights for it
when she feels it
when it clicks.
She becomes a woman
without that step being defined by society.
It was her claimed moment.