My Fucking Feelings 5/13/’17

I felt like Keanu Reeves today, without the fame, fortune, and good looks. A drifter. No home. No wife. No kids. Someone who wears his motorcycle helmet in the movie theater. Eats sandwiches in the park. I bought flowers for my mom because my dad never does. But they died in the hot car as I was teaching people how to build new containers. I don’t know how many of them actually listened. I wonder how cracked my container is. I ate sushi. I went for a walk. Listened to Fleetwood Mac and cried. Drank too much coffee. Sat on my porch. Remembered things I didn’t want to.

Then I started thinking about people who don’t meet me half way. And learning to cut the cord with them. I’m no longer interested in anything lopsided or anyone who isn’t interested. People are weird. I wish they would talk more. Or maybe I talk too much. Especially for a therapist. No that’s bullshit. I think therapists should talk more. Show themselves. I need to focus on running with this ball. I’ve been yelling pass for so long. When I write these I tell myself I’m just writing them for me. No one will see them. Then when I finish, my solid self hits post. I’ve been tricking myself for the last seven years. Because I’m afraid. But what’s more important than my fear is my truth and to show the world that therapists are people too. I refuse to hold the pressure to be inspirational because of what I do for a living. There’s something phoney about that. Forced inspiration is like someone who you don’t want to come on to you coming on way too strong. My truth is my spine, it’s the only thing I trust these days.

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