Another Wasted Chance

To live is to be marked. To live is to change - to die a hundred deaths.

     What was the first sign that told me that I was different? Was it the three day periods I spent with potentials before I would run away screaming? Was it the happy feelings that were more fleeting than fireworks, and as beautiful?
     My therapist has not called, and it has been weeks. I find myself more than a little bit annoyed - though also relieved. I don't want to see her anymore. Not because I believe therapy has done nothing for me, but because I know she knows everything I spit through my teeth at her, and for that, I cannot stand her. I wonder if this is simply because I cannot ever tell anyone the little details that ruin me, or if it is because she was a stranger, and will remain so, always? I do not know this woman who knows my secrets, and I do not like her.

     I know I should call. I should call and ask to be scheduled for an appointment... But I did call. She simply never called back. Perhaps a new therapist. A new face.
I could do it. All I have to do is fill out a little piece of paper with brutal honesty, and they would waste no time scheduling me for appointments. Once a week. Maybe even twice, if they knew the whole of it.
     I want there to be a quick fix. I'm sure everyone does. But for what I have? There are only prayers, and I am tired of waiting for answers. I used to think I must have done something to deserve all of this - to deserve the acts in themselves, the distrust of my family, their abandonment when I needed them, their abandonment when I didn't, the scorn of people everywhere, and this disorder. This horrible monster that sits in my brain and teases me with thoughts and feelings I'd like to be rid of.
     I thought perhaps I'd enjoy some sort of group therapy, but no. No, because this thing varies from person to person. It is so unique, and at the same time so common. So common, in fact, that no one I know shares my symptoms. How very frustrating.

Can you imagine what it's like for me to hear you all complain? Oh, he broke my heart. Suzie's a drama queen. I just got dumped. He never calls me back. She only sends one worded texts. He never has the time for me...
Yeah? I am so terribly sorry. I try so incredibly hard to be sympathetic, but it gets difficult. I cannot relate.
I really like him, but he might not like me.
Oh? Well, how will you go on?!
     It's like hearing someone complain they don't know a word in a book when you'd give anything to read. Words with meanings, with beauty, with stories to tell, and I cannot have a word of it. I'm very sorry the word "ambivalant" confused you, as you immersed yourself in a world I'd kill for, but don't you see the value of the other words? Are you so used to these stories, now, that you cannot see their beauty?

Tell me again, the one about the boy you like.
Oh, how I do love a fairy tale.