In Wooded Thought (continued)

The sun beat down upon my head as noon crept closer. I nestled underneath the peak which now created a welcomed shade from its shrubbery and jets of rock. My forest green backpack slid behind my aching back for relief from the rough texture of the limestone which now relieved me of the heat. Grateful for the relief, I extended my arm and stroked the underbelly of my limestone parasol. This action prompted me to consider my under-appreciation for that which had always been brought me back into the present. Prior to understanding that what was meant by living in the present, I believe that I had been living in a constant two year leap away from where I had actually been. What first came to mind was my first experience with mindfulness.

I had been seeing my counselor for three weeks. My deep depression and overbearing parents had caused me to seek out deceit and breed conspiracy from the words which counselors past had said to me in good faith. Now, I was eighteen. I was two months from graduation and had quit my the job which I had held for the last year. This decision had seemed rational at the time, but as the weeks passed by I filled with more regret. I wanted to find answers to my reclusive and rash behavior: smoking cigarettes, snapping at those whom I hoped would be my friends, and sending myself into panic attacks over the thought of not being able to escape my family. I knew deep down that I was plagued with a dark fire that I was allowing to consume me, but I could not resist and fell victim to its seduction often. With a look of ice set upon my face and a quake to my hands as I filled out to paperwork, I entered my first meaningful therapy appointment in search for the joy toward life which I remembered from earlier years. 

The appointment started with minimal vocal communication. I thought that I appeared stoic and put together, but the trained eye of my therapist new far more. We began speaking of school, and she instantly recognized a contorted flash of emotion on my face.
"I can see that this is causing some emotions within you, would you care to explain?"
I breathed in shallow and sharp. I felt my shoulder stiffen and move toward my ears. "I guess, I feel, well, frustrated, I guess. I mean I work so hard, but I don't think that, ya know, it's doing anything for me, really." At that point the words tumbled from my mouth like water from a waterfall. A general direction was apparent, but the were no paths of logic or even coherent thought. "I don't want to worry so much about working hard, but what will happen if I don't? I know it won't be the end of the world, but I don't think I'll be able to handle failure. I mean, yeah, I have failed before, but I don't want to now. I don't know why I fear it, but why wouldn't I if all I've ever thought of is how to get to wear I want to go?" I babbled onward in a disjointed state until I ran out of breath and began repeating words instead of breathing. I then became frustrated with myself for sounding like a fool and promptly shut up so as not to further annoy me therapist.

I looked back upon this memory and wanted my smash my head upon the cliff both for sounding like a fool and for hating the sound of my own voice. Why had I felt that my therapist would feel anything but professional interest toward my disconnected explanation as to why I wanted to see a therapist. My thoughts seared into my mind as the sun grew bolder. I spotted a path to the river below and decided that the flat rocks creating the shore would make a grand place to dine upon my lunch after a cooling swim. With an aching back and stiff legs, I began my descent.