“You look…”
“Like shit?”
“I didn’t say it.”
It’s okay, I know I look awful. People have been telling me that for weeks. My eyes are a little sunken and I haven’t had the emotional strength to flex the muscles in my face to give me that pleasant demeanour that people are familiar with. He takes the time to listen to me, asking questions here and there to better understand the situation. He’s sympathizing with me. He understands that sound judgements go out the window when heavy emotions are at play. I was sitting in front of a chicken burger that I had just bought but had no appetite for. “You need to focus on yourself”, he tells me. I assured him that I have and I took a trip to Denver to focus on my feelings. “No, not like that.” He points out what I’ve told him: I’ve been writing all these letters to you but made he me consider that maybe I need to write a letter to myself. I froze. It hadn’t crossed my mind before. It was a good idea. I’m constantly writing and addressing you because it makes me feel like you’re still there, listening. I’m doing it now, even. I tell myself it’s therapeutic but now I’m starting to suspect that I’m in delusions. I need to wake up and really focus on myself. I’m going to try doing it within the next few days. Just need to slip up one more time tonight.
“You can’t take on getting consumed all at once; you’ll never get anywhere”. He told me not to think about the website right now. I was really conscious about him putting his blue clipboard away; he didn’t even start writing on it. He tells me that I have more important things to focus on. One step at a time. He’s right. Focus on myself. Figure out my feelings. Establish and make clear my own requirements. Set a timeline. And let go if I can’t reach them. He gave me a system. And I work very well with instructions.