These Things Take Therapy

If you’re reading this, the autopost was a success (or, you’ve somehow hacked my blog and are browsing through my drafts. At any rate, welcome). If you found  the link to this post from Twitter, then I figured out that post-to -Twitter bit too. Go me!

If you’re reading this, I am going. In fact, I’m well on my way.

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“These things take time,” I always tell myself. It feels good. It’s a free pass to close the book on whatever I’m dealing with and reshelve it for a while. Works even better if you sigh with it: *sigh* These things take time. Add your name, too: *sigh* These things take time, Roconia. 

Unfortunately, the way my future is set up, I have to be brutally real with myself. This is your one and only life. Someone began smudging his thumb through your innocence at age 3. You had a penis in your mouth before you were allowed to chew gum.  You avoid an entire state because your aunt lived and died there. Your temper is growing, your focus is lacking, I could go on, I said.

I didn’t need to go on. I knew what I was getting at. And I’ve been avoiding it since 2009.

These things do not take time. Stagnant feelings are a breeding ground for more pain. They fester, they swell, they infect, and gnaw away at the very heart of the whole matter: you.

Before you know it, you wake up drowning. The thought of death settles into the hammock of your mind and swings back and forth and you don’t disturb it. You let it get comfortable.  You, perhaps, welcome it. Perhaps more than once.

For a tulip to bloom, for a child to grow, for whiskey to age, for winter to pass, these things take time.

For one to find solace, for one to find release, for one to address the mess that dragged them down in the first place, these things take therapy.

And for one to know the difference, well, that might just take a knowledgeable person writing a blog post like this. We’re not drying laundry, we’re healing. We are restoring, we are making whole. I have such a strong desire to be a light unto the world, but first I must illuminate my own dark places.

So, if you’re reading this, I’ve already gone. I’ve scheduled this to post to publish at the very moment I’m supposed to walk out the door. More than likely though, I took a long shower then sat in my towel and stared at the wall afterwards. More than likely, I’m hopping on one foot, struggling with my sandal strap, keys in one hand, post office packages in the other. More than likely, I’m just a smidge behind schedule. But at any rate, I can’t back out now (the no-show fee is ridiculous!) Whether I’m late or not. Im well on my way.

Y’all be blessed.