"I'm going to stop you for a minute." my therapist asked with intent eyes. 

"What?" I snarled.

"Are you telling me all this backstory to try to convince me as to WHY you made that poor decision?" 

Silence.

"Caroline, are these excuses?"

I shifted my weight between my hips as I sat on the couch.  The back of my neck felt incredibly hot, and in two beats, I was raging inside like a tsunami brewing for touchdown.

"No." I seethed.  "I just want to be a fucking human being, that's all.  Can't I make a mistake?  Where the hell was God?  It was too damn much, ya know?  Too much."

She said nothing, as if to insinuate that I had NOT answered her question.

"I want to run out that door right now.  And honestly, I feel like you're shaming me," I uttered as my throat tightened.

Silence.

"I'm just pissed off, ya know?"

Silence.

"It's not fucking fair that I had to endure ALL that, and THEN go through, ya know..." 

I trailed off. 

"At whom are you pissed?" she inquired.

"Well," I snapped, "The correct answer here, is myself.  Did I get that right?" 

My sarcasm had little effect on her calm demeanor.

She shifted in her seat.

"'You' is not necessarily the 'right' answer."  

"Well, I'm pretty damn good at tricking the shrink with the "right" answer.  I'm a psych major you know, and been going to therapy since I was 8." 

"I know," she said.

Silence.  

"Caroline, at whom are you angry with?" she asked gently this time.

Silence again. 

I sat on that couch, glued to the cushion, even though every fiber in my body desired to bolt through that door.

The light in the room appeared to grow dim, and my therapist became smaller and smaller.  

Inside my core, an 8 year old started to emerge, and her breathing grew frantic and labored.  My eyes began to dart between the lamp in the corner,  and the floor.  

Was I having a nervous breakdown?  What was happening? 

And then, IT happened. 

I surrendered.  

My hands cupped my face, and the tears flowed with such intensity that I nearly choked.  

"With whom are you angry with, Caroline?" 

"I"m angry at..." I blubbered.

The list was short, but concentrated with stains of damage, including God.  The feelings took me by surprise.  

Sweet Jesus!  I was falling apart in her office and I literally wanted to hug her and stab her at the same time.  

I left thanking her, but also hating her. 

How could she NOT have compassion for my story?  How could she not understand that I made some poor choices because of circumstances?  How dare her?  

I woke up the next morning pissed off.  I journaled about how misunderstood I felt.  

"Safe place she says?  Her office is a safe place?  Yeah right. I can't even be human like everyone else."

"I don't have excuses.  I was in a tight spot in every way when I chose poorly.  How could God allow that to happen.  Where was He when I needed him to throw me a bone.  I mean, I was homeless, jobless, penniless, worn down, tired, ragged.  I had no support!  Seriously?! Seriously????"  I moaned on and on and on in the pages of my journal.

(Evening after my appointment)

"Well, it wasn't awful..." I chuckled to my acting coach as we reviewed my scene in class. 

Silence.

The video played back.

"Actually Caroline, it IS awful."

"What?!" I gasped.

"Look at yourself.  You are more capable than THAT!" 

I watched. 

"Is that your BEST?"  he quizzed me, staring into my right eye.

I sheepishly looked at the tiles on the floor. 

"No, it's not my best." 

"Right!!  Now watch THIS take." 

Video played. 

"Brilliant." he smiled.  "See the difference?"

"Yes." 

"I won't let you get away with anything in here, got it? No bullshit.  Understood?" 

"Got it."

I did get it. 

I don't want to stab my therapist now, nor do I want to spit in my acting teacher's face.  They are role models in my life that REALLY care.  They've got my back.  They challenge me to be GREAT!  They push me WAY beyond what I ever thought I was capable of.  They see the BEST in me, and will challenge me, even when it hurts so much that I want to guillotine myself.

God wants me to be the BEST too.  No more days of coddling his little girl.  

I decided not to give God the middle finger anymore. 

I also decided that I won't list the names of those who have inflicted wounds in my heart, nor will I give a detailed account of some VERY POOR choices I've made in less than ideal circumstances.  Screw it.  That's the past.  I'll protect the rights of the guilty here-even though I don't have to.  As my therapist would say, "you don't have to take responsibility for what is NOT YOURS." 

I'd tell her, "I know.  They know who they are, and they know what they've done." 

:)