therapy

as i sat and enjoyed a cigarette before therapy, i found myself thinking about how strange it feels to walk outside after a session. after pouring your deepest unfiltered thoughts out to a relative stranger for nearly an hour the world seems to change around you.
as i exited the building 5 minutes later, having realized that it is martin luther king jr. day, and that the counseling offices are closed, i understood how much i need that feeling.
whether its the bell jar of sylvia plath or the glass cage of emotion a la ron burgundy, its absence is conspicuous after walking around contained for so long. it's as if people and things are further away without it, but because they seem further is exactly why i suddenly feel more vulnerable. before they were close, but beyond reach; now their distance is surmountable.
do i really feel like i'm carrying a glass shield around with me? i don't really know, all i can testify to is the difference i feel when i explore truth. what do i really gain through therapy that i couldn't achieve on my own? when i sit there and articulate the thoughts which previously had no voice, am i being honest with the therapist or with myself?
augustine's struggle was to confess his sin's to an omniscient god, and to what end? what is the use confessing when all your sins are known? here it is just the opposite. why should i take comfort in expressing my sins to someone who is otherwise ignorant of them. for the purposes of the therapeutic exercise, i am omniscient, so why should i ask the advice or opinion of someone who will only know what truths i choose to reveal?
that which remains unsaid hangs in the void between truth and objectivity. is absolute knowledge of self dependent on another, on god? we all need somebody.
i find silence in my solitude...could go days without making a noise, without thinking a single thought. and if i listen to the voices inside, a single hairline crack gives birth to the fractured fragments that rain down and eviscerate me. so i prefer the silence, and dance in the void of the unknown and unsaid.
absolute knowledge is a given. all that remains is a choice.
whose reflection does the mirror project when no one stands before it? look at me to see a distorted image of yourself. all i can do is absorb and project. the characteristics are not my own, only the distortions and perversions. place a mirror before me so i can fall into the eternal ecstasy of self-reflection. the annihilation of self through repititionitionition. the affirmation of self through annihilationationation.