Therapy is funny

I am left with more question than answer

One minute in, you’re at ease, with doubt if you can trust the person in front of you crossing their legs and holding a tiny paper and pen, next—you’re laughing about gravy situation and mushing, you can see how stupid you’ve been with all your intellectual prowess, how little you know about your own mind—sorry to you fellow “pain intellectual”. The next minute, you’re sobbing, a gush of tears, snot running through your nose uncontrollably. The next you’re punching the pillow, biting it, looking for someone to punch in the face.

The rollercoaster of it all, and someone is there right in front of you, paid to watch, without judgement. Countless downpour of emotion that are undefined flooded you, and some, you don’t even have a word to define, you ransack your subconscious to find a word, but you can’t, even with all your vocabulary collections.

It is humbling, one time you come out with crazy amount of clarity and feeling like you have the tools to navigate all the complexity life throws at you. The next session, you come out with existential questions, not having a clue of where to start dealing with them—but one thing, one thing you know for sure, someone’s there, on the other side ready to shed light to the wound, and help you see the back of your head that no matter how hard you try, you can never figure out on your own.