there is

words, yet i cannot understand
meaning. dreams, they don’t make sense
to me.

there is life, yet i do not know
how to live it.


on psychologists and philosophers

suddenly everyone thinks
themselves as psychologists;
masters of all human experiences —
they want to help you. prescriptive
psychotherapy. their techniques are gods
able to weather storms. they think themselves
as the brightest  philosophers. they read an interesting book,
and think they have conquered philosophy and found the meaning to life —

oh, how foolish that is!
call them out on that, and the client,
will no longer be the client
in the therapy room.



thoughts, emotions they no longer make sense
i seek a way out.
rant to my therapist,
and he tells me im contradicting myself.

i let spill: fearful flashbacks
that i am seeing.

he asks: are flashbacks a problem
i say i don’t know. he asks:
why did i tell him that then —
i say i don’t know. he asks me:
what’s wrong with me. i say i don’t know.

he tells me:¬†i’m wasting his time, and depriving other people
of treatments. inside

my heart whispers, yes.

author’s note: i’m so sorry for ranting here. but recently i’ve been feeling extremely worthless. lost, trying to search for a will to live. i’ve found it in love from my family, and a few friends. thought therapy might help. but it seems to only confirm my worst fears that i am indeed quite worthless after all. but isn’t it ironic, that in order to receive help, you need to be able to articulate your problems so clearly. otherwise, you get mocked by being inarticulate when you are supposed to be “eloquent”.

a fake smile from the therapist. he tells me my case is frustrating later because i refused to share these memories with him (do i even have to share when he has already made me feel so uncomfortable?). honestly, feeling crappy. life on this earth hasn’t been this unappealing yet…