Miss On-Her-Own

It is very unsettled.

Trouble is brewing and I'm caustic with questions.

I don't know who I am.

I never did.

I just knew what had to be done, what had to be preserved and what had to be let go.

I guess I am a casualty of my own purpose.

It's hard to tell how we are.

We are too well to be sick, and too sick to be well.

We are in a category of our own.

Sshhh.

There is pain inside. A quiet, accustomed, expected sadness.

I think the sadness is that I have integrated with the others and am left unsatisfied. There really is only me left and I'm devoid of all emotion. And if I'm all that is left, why do I need therapy? I think it is my own silence I hear. I am new. I have no childhood. I was born into my thirties, a full adult. There are no ties to me and what might have been endured in someone else's childhood.

I feel therapy is failing us. I only keep appointments just in case I need them. But I haven't needed one in a while. I'm getting by on my own. I no longer feel a therapeutic bond with Therapist. There is nothing productive that comes out of our meetings. And being self-sufficient, there is nothing for me to work on in therapy.

Maybe feeling this independent and grown-up is just another faction of my imagination. Maybe I exist because the others are still around but too broken and damaged from the stress they incurred at the beginning of the year. And maybe I was created purposefully without emotion if simply to get through the day without incidence. Maybe just because I deny them doesn't mean they don't exist. Maybe when things settle down this summer, they will reemerge.

But, maybe and really, I did kill them off and am here all by myself.

I've never felt so simple, basic, empty, and needless in all my existence.

There is no help for this, but, oh how I wish there was.

Silence . . .