open mic

Tonight someone at the open mic read a poem about bulimia and trying to get better, and relapsing, and having to start over again. It was a really good poem, and also really tough content. I started crying. At the break, I wrote her a note saying thank you for being brave. I didn't say why. I didn't say why I was crying. I wasn't sure what I wanted to say, and if she asked, I didn't know if I'd be able to say anything without crying again. 

Because a writer friend of mine, lost her words and energy to the disorder... because when she was ready to start over, she had run out of time. Cuz some folks don't get better. 

I practiced words, then realized I didn't know what I wanted to say... thought about writing another poem, started crying again. Wondered why I was alive to share this story that is not mine when my friend is not. It isn't fair. I don't know what to say... I am too exhausted to write. Just felt like I needed to record this moment. 

It was mostly a good day. 5 clients, lots of youth. 

Tomorrow 3 clients and energy work, maybe stop at the bank on the way. 

I dunno...  Yesterday was tough cuz i had therapy at 8 am... then a full day. It was a good day... just long.

Saturday maybe talk to my Dad.

Sunday a massage and maybe buy some books for the Morris folks book club.