Does anyone have any answers?

I started therapy again two weeks ago.

My house burned down three months ago. When I enter Centerville city limits, my brain automatically directs me down the familiar road of my rural hometown. I see the aftermath of 18 years taken by flames, slowly withering as the seasons change.

I often find myself pondering what my life would look like if the fire never happened.

Would I be more prepared to graduate college in a little over a month? Would I be able to watch firetrucks pass me by without my stomach turning? Will I ever be able to watch “The Greatest Showman” ever again without sobbing during the scene where the circus burns down?

Day in and day out, my mind races with these questions and a billion others just like it. I feel like I live my days with a large cloud hanging above my head with the words “what if?”

I pose these questions almost as if I’m begging for someone to answer them. Because I can’t seem to find the answers myself.

In the three months since the fire, I’ve learned a lot about myself; the way I grieve, the way I open up, the way walk through life now. I don’t know if I’ve ever struggled so much to open up about anything. But how do you open up a conversation about the loss of your home, your pets and (almost) your sister?

In hopes of these questions being answered, I turned to professional help. I’ve been to therapy before, but I always felt like a fraud. “Nothing particularly BAD has happened to you,” I would say to myself, “so why are you so upset?”

I decided that I would much rather be in therapy for a regular-degular case of anxiousness than to be sitting across from a woman I don’t know as I detail every feeling I’ve experienced since December 22.

Now, I don’t know if you’ve gathered from who I am as a person or a writer that I struggle to truly open up about anything, but if that’s your assumption I would say you win the prize.

I spent two Monday afternoons with this woman so far, telling her everything that I could in our two separate one hour sessions. I told her about doomsday and the days after, the smorgasbord of emotion I feel about my own experiences as well as what my parents and my sister have gone through. After every sentence, I seem to always end it with “I don’t know,” almost as a way to dismiss the experiences I’ve encountered.

My therapist perceived me. She called me a mystery. She said that by pushing my own feelings away that I also push away people who want to help me. That people can only see as deep as we ourselves are willing to go.

I literally laughed. I laughed because she’s right. I also laughed because she said that in our second session together.

I guess that’s what this is. What’s more vulnerable than saying how you feel on the internet rather than just saying it to your inner circle of people?

For now, I guess I’ll say this; I’m so sad. My heart breaks every day, even when I can’t possibly show it. I’m angry. I’m angry that this happened. I’m angry for my sister and my parents. I’m confused. I’m confused as to why it even happened in the first place. I’m slightly numb. Numb to the reality that I will never get a chance to see my home the way it was ever again.

I could ask myself the same old questions, but wouldn’t it be nice to just get some answers?

If this is a test, can I copy off of yours?