I want to see my therapist and speak to her. She's not the best, if I must say. But she's my safe space. I can tell her anything, say whatever is in mind and know for a fact that it won't be taken against me. It will not incriminate me. It will not blow-up in my face. I know that she will understand and may even offer a theory on why I might be feeling how I feel. Without patronizing me. Without making me feel emotionally unsafe.
Thoughts I'd tell her today - thoughts that kept me awake last night:
I have a theory, and I think it's a good one. You know how when a piece of glass or ceramic falls and breaks into pieces - if it shatters into a few pieces, let's a couple or more, some of us might pick them up and try to put them back together. Glue them along the cracks. Make it whole again. Not as good as new, but... whole.
If it shatters into a few too many pieces though... would anybody pick them up? Try to put them back together? Not a chance.
In fact, we'd try and be careful around those shards so as to not get hurt by them. We'd tread carefully, we'd be careful not to touch them as they might pierce our skin. Make us bleed. We'd get a brush and sweep them up and into a bin.
They can never be whole again.
We're kinder to things that can be made whole again. Hence, we pick them up and put them together. We're crueler to things that are beyond repair, more so if they have sharp, jagged edges. So, we stay away (from) and cautious of them, and make sure they end up in a bin so we don't get hurt.
I feel like a once beautiful ceramic urn that broke into 'one too many' pieces.
How did my life break into a free fall? How did people who used to look up to me, love me - unconditionally(!), turn against me? I've not hit the bottom yet - because every time I think I've hit the bottom, I'm made to realise that there's further down to go.
It's an abyss.
I don't want to go back. Allah saaiin, please let me die before I can ever go back.
شیشوں کا مسیحا کوئی نہیں
کیا آس لگائے بیٹھے ہو
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