Part 2: Therapy: Summary of therapy thus far..that I have written and I have a feeling my therapy will be ending soon because I will be moving...
so, I know at my next session, and the few left that I will have, I need to go ahead and find as many ways as possible to process what therapy has meant to me for the past 10 months...so...part of that process was writing the following letter..that I haven't sent...but, I needed to write it.

I believe the poem karma was part of the reason I made a decision to go to therapy...I needed a place to go where my problems would be validated, where my mind would contrive a sense of harmony...because, something wasn't right. Something was wrong and I couldn't put my finger on it. When certain needs go unmet for too long, we find ourselves searching for missing jigsaw pieces, for the missing truths that bathe in our hearts...we search for a story or two to be finished...to be solved, for some reason story after story flew out of my mouth, as if each one was reserved for a specific moment, it was as if God came out of a cloud and gave me a space and season of time to clear out all of the silence...a person gave me the permission to no longer be silent and I think it was something I never knew I needed until I found it, it was unknown to me for a good part of my life..I never knew I craved a voice. Once I heard I could finally speak up, it was like my life was set to fire and my heart was prepared to burn down the clouds or flip over the ocean...I couldn't help but, speak..it was like being the first one to discover gold in a cave.. like finding hope in the darkest of places...as a child I was meek...I had been told to only talk when spoken too, to only think what was already thought of me...and I think the opportunity to open up was my blessing and curse in disguise, because it took out the best and worst parts of me...the best part was that I learned what it would take to just be me, I learned about my flaws and inconsistencies. Struggle is our best teacher...and we are its best student. The worst part of knowing I was free to speak, was that I moved too fast through the problems...I rushed and hurried through the trauma...I said too much too soon because yes, I'm more open and free then most but, no human being is equipped to handle there suffering all at once. Its easy for me to open up in a room where nothing can hurt me, but its like walking through hell to take all of that **** home with me. I had no coping mechanisms but, God and a few good friends...but, this was and is my season of doubt with God, and also my period of trying to separate from my parents, so I felt like my hope was freezing, freezing over into worthlessness and so that's how I lived my life, couldn't get out of bed most days of this year, struggled with suicidal thoughts, wanted to die nearly every day, felt no one would understand my pain..but, I kept talking...because, obviously I had stories built up inside of me since I was a kid, they we're stories filled with brokenness and fear...so much so, that if I let them stay inside of me I felt I would suffocate...I needed to vent, I needed to release my shame, the darker parts of me and my pain...thats why I can't decide if therapy is my regret or my rejoicing place...maybe its neither...maybe its just the bridge I had to cross to get to the next step or path of where God is leading me...I was so negative in therapy because I felt I had to be...sometimes I regret not showing the softer and happier sides of me but, whats done is done..this room is still a room smacked pack with all of my memories and more in counting,...
Truly, how could God be mad at me---for recognizing the evil inside of me and wanting to change it...I just didn't want to become what others had been to me...a perpetrator, a fraud, one who steals the purity of innocent hands. I didn't want that blood on my hands. I was scared of my thoughts, they terrified me indefinitely... to the point where I learned that I was never taught healthy sexuality... Aside from my own stories, I was always inspired by the fact that my therapist had a story...although, she would never tell me, or fully tell me ...I kinda wanted to know what brought beauty out of her suffering? What was her testimony, I thought? ...because, I have problems of letting go of the same old abusive thoughts. and I wondered how she ever moved past her own pain of abuse? knowing hers was worse, maybe if I heard how she did it, it would help me discover a new insight to my own freedom. I knew I would never know so I focused on something that made my smile glow... simply put, the number one thing I respected about her was her ability to find the courage to follow her own unique calling, it was obvious to me that her own scars would not be felt in vain.--and for that, and for any human being really, I consider that the silver sign, the golden crown of true leadership...when your pain is subordinate to your purpose... Way before I ever met her I'd always had hope for myself, that I-too would find the strength to follow my calling one day.