I'm all about a forked tongue and a dirty house

I am so full of words

I can't get any of them to come out,

to leave the damp comfort of my brain

and actualize their potential on the screen,

no matter how much I tap-tap-tap at these plastic letters.

All my feelings remain clustered, covered, hidden beneath my depression like an antique car under a tarp, the corners held down by bricks to ensure they don't lift, to decrease the chances of exposure.

That's not really supposed to be a poem (good thing, eh?), it's just the way the words left my fingers.

The hardest thing. Nothing is wrong; why, then, do I so feel that everything is wrong?

I feel like such a cliche. Like the bleak, moody girl in high school - the one with the black clothes, black hair, black mood. Picture of Morrissey on her notebook, The Cure in her Walkman. The one with a pretty good life, or so it seemed from the outside, that made you wonder why she was so unhappy.

I feel like I should feel better.

A judgment. I am beset with them, I'm learning in therapy. They weigh me down, and I am slowly learning the skills to deal with them. I have only just learned the name for them.

I once had a therapist who would tell me, "Don't should on yourself!"
I would laugh when she said that, but it worked; I caught myself in the middle of judgments and "should" statements and I rephrased, using my language to change my thoughts.
And that's what I'm learning now, in therapy.

I love my husband. I love my son. I love my new house, my little car, my books, my friends, my pet rat, the hope and possibility in my position at the women's shelter. I don't have a job that I hate, nor do I have to get a job that I hate. I am treated well, fed well, clad well, housed well, loved well.

There is nothing wrong. Nothing visible. It's all inside me. I don't love myself. I lack skills. I have a medical condition (personality disorder) or two (depression).

I know that it will be okay someday - my brain knows this to be true, but you can't convince my heart. I am learning, in therapy, to integrate the two, to find peace and serene knowledge.

Slowly, slowly.