I don't want a therapist.  Or maybe I do.
Talking won't help me.  Unless it does.
There is nobody to listen with a whole heart and objective mind, unless I make them up.

So what would my therapist consist of?

I am somehow imagining a floating head, but certainly not on a TV screen.  I'm thinking of The Face of Boe from Doctor Who.  An entity, reduced in it's existence to that which really matters. 
Is this what they think when assuming floating heads on a screen are acceptable?  Sour-faced, detached, formidable faces of judgement.  Not only do we endure their lifeless scrutiny in our darkest moments, but we also pay them for it as they talk down to us.  As they treat us like we don't even know ourselves. 
The face I see is alive, organic, grotesque and generous with large, clear eyes.  A face gazing into mine with the purity of a child and the wisdom of the ages.  A face without facade - no payment, no shame is necessary.  It's known and accepted that there is no medicine for my ailment, which in itself is medicinal. 

Face::  I will listen.

S::  Nobody listens.

Face::  I'm no-body, and I'll face you without judgement.

S::  {Behold, the face without judgement} Why?

Face::  I have shed my flesh.  The face is the essence of my consciousness, from birth to wretched filth to enlightenment.  Your face will remain intact, as well, because I can now consume your poisons.  I am no-body.

S::  Do you need to consume the poisons?

Face::  I do not.  I require no payment and consume only as cleansing.   

S::  You're the only one.

Face::  We rely only upon ourselves.  But right now, yes, I"m the one who will listen.  It's hard to know where to begin?

S::  I realize how alone I am, which wouldn't be a bother if I wasn't such a failure.

Face::  Failed at what?

S::  I'm a failed artist, writer, librarian, seamstress, student, sister, daughter, mother, human.

Face::  Let's break it down, first.  Why do you feel like a failed artist?

S::  My head is empty and my creativity is a joke.  I can't focus on anything for more than 5 minutes.  I learned from my mother to do many things, but to always find shortcuts.  Shortcuts cut me short.  I'm drab, boring, maybe good at technique sometimes, but completely void of creative originality.  I put myself down before I even begin.  I get distracted and depressed before I finish most projects.  I'm dense and drab.

Face::  What were your first memories of creative endeavors or experiences?

S::  I remember being in Kindergarten, and working on a cut and paste project.  It was all new to me, being in a classroom as well as being around other kids my age.  I didn't go to preschool or daycare, we lived outside of town and I was isolated growing up.  I was proud of what I had done, but when I showed it to my teacher she looked so upset.  She acted like her head hurt and told me "I can't believe the mess you've made".  That is literally one of my first memories from school, and I recall how shocked I was at her disapproval. 

Face::  Her disapproval affected your approach to creative endeavors, because you didn't understand how she could judge you so harshly when you worked so hard of your project.  You felt like you did something wrong, and like something was wrong with you.  Now, you're afraid to finish or even start projects because someone, like your K teacher, might criticize you.
Maybe the teacher was having a bad day, but whatever her reason, it was an abusive reaction to a 5 year old, and you don't need define yourself according to it.

S::