The Therapy Waiting Room

I envy her. She steps out of the room lighter almost. Already i feel my soul wanting to experience that. Her mom sits and awaits her return, with the most welcoming smile on her face. A smile that was the first to greet a stranger such as myself when i walked in the building. A type of smile that makes the stereotypical side of my brain wonder what could have possibly brought her daughter here? Her life already seems better. I hate that part of me. The insecure part. The terrifyingly raw and telling part of me.
What about me got miscommunicated? Which areas of myself are seen as inadequate?

Alone, Again.
Sign After Sign Of The Same Ol' Situation.
Children Playing. Simultaneous Souls Of Discussion.
Concentration: I'm Just Here Coolin'.
Hurtin' From A Pain & Suffering From A Depression That Won't Let Up.
Yup, I'm Here Again, N The Therapy Waiting Room.

I keep wondering what it was they found so drastic
All the voices speaking a language of static
Are we all part of a big mental collapse
Who exactly is to blame for my relapse
Like brail my fingertips trace the stitches
Driven mad by how it always itches
Withdrawing into silence I'm frail and broken
Any chances of returning home still unspoken