My Fucking Feelings

Therapy. Intimacy. The greater.

I sat down to chip away at the giant mountain of half-finished articles I need to get done and suddenly got overwhelmed. As I scrolled through all the endless titles that I think will get clicks, claps, and likes, my desire to punch keys quickly faded. I saw my fingers run away.

Writing is like kissing someone. If you kiss someone you really want to kiss, it can be magical and effortless. Time disappears. But try to force yourself to kiss someone you really don’t want to kiss. You feel hollow and cheap. It’s not a good thing. No one should do it. It’s disrespectful to kissing.

I’m seeing a therapist again. I love therapy. This time, a male. Most of my therapists have been female. I decided to see a man this time. It feels good. Refreshing. He’s Jungian. We talk about archetypes. I’m a visual person and a storyteller so it’s right up my alley. Life is so much easier when you see yourself as a character on a journey. It creates distance and it’s in this distance that peace, acceptance, and connection is found. There’s less pain there. You don’t take things so personally. You see that you are a part of something bigger. You see that things happen for a reason. Act breaks are needed to push your story forward or there will be no story. Just a lot of thinking.