They ask me, "Is therapy helping?" And I smile, Because I don't know what to say. I sit there every week, spilling pieces of myself, waiting for something to shift. But it never feels like enough. I talk, I nod, I promise I'll "work on it," but deep down, I'm scared I have gone too far. That maybe this is just who I am now - numb, heavy, tired. People say healing takes time, but what if time just makes the cracks wider? I don't tell anyone that part. They'd say I'm doing the right thing, that I'm "working on myself." That maybe therapy can teach me to cope, but not to feel whole. And that scares me more than anything.