The Archive of Care

Grief is sitting with me heavy tonight.

I can’t bring myself to write it out. To let it live beyond my mind, because I fear it’ll hurt worse.

As I typed that, it felt more like a need to let it out, but I’m filled with fear of opening that door.

When I came into my room tonight, my mat was hanging on the wall. The poems I never took down from my bathroom sink are still up, untouched. They remind me of one of the moments of kindness shown to me throughout our work together. A gift meant to help me weather storms I felt like I couldn’t manage.

After everything ended, I threw away the sticky note with a message reminding me that a moment is only a moment and that I could get through it. I deeply regret throwing it away.

When I got to the poems, I couldn’t touch them.

Part of me is glad they’re still there.

Another part of me can’t manage to look at them or read them.

I really fucked up causing that termination.

I know she isn’t the only person who could help me. But it was such a different experience, and my body was shifting.

I’m grateful for my current therapist. I am.

And I know that with time and effort on my end, things can shift somehow.

It’s just hard to open up.

The tension of both wanting to open up and being too scared to do so makes it hard to show up. Because I feel defeated.

And somehow, the longer I work with her, the harder it feels. The more I have to work to open my mouth.

I’m terrified.

I know I say that often, but I am.

I keep wondering when she will get tired of waiting for me to stop fearing and start leaning in.

And I’m scared that if I start leaning in, my fear will run the show before I even realize it and ruin everything again.

I really wish I could have had life experiences that didn’t make everything so complicated to navigate.

I can’t really feel anything about that part.

It just feels like it is what it is.

It’s the cards I was dealt, and I have to find my way through them.

No amount of wishing can change the past.

But a lot of work might change my future.

I miss her.

I think it’s the first time in a year that I’ve allowed myself to feel that.

It hurts.

I’m hoping it hurts less tomorrow.