【Therapy】

Deep breaths. I counted to ten each time I leaned back towards the wall, keeping my arms steady despite how deeply they burned and trembled with each repetition. I assured myself, as I always do—it’ll be worth it in the end, my shoulders, my back, they will improve.

When I thought of therapy, never would tears and tremoring limbs come to mind. I had fooled myself into believing simple and painless exercises would prompt much needed improvement in my strength—though the truth only reveals the depth of my likely incurable weakness. A discouragement of a dozen origins, a fear of failure, another of success—part of me enforces the thought it’ll all be for naught, dropping out of a single participant race, the other that I’ll keep to the task at hand, succeed in my routines despite no benefits.

A hypocritical paradox boxes me in, fueled by restless overthinking. Set finished, I rest—replenishing tears lost with a quick drink, hoping to drown my thoughts with each swallow.