"a careless word may kindle strife; a cruel word may wreck a life;
a timely word may level stress; a loving word may heal and bless."
- Anonymous
Imagining myself in a group therapy session is rather painful; my mind is burning as I try to envision this moment: what would happen, how I'd convey my feelings,which of those I would pick and choose to vocalize, how I would collect and perceive others difficult - possibly traumatic - situations; what I'd be able to say to help.I've always tried to think of, or consider myself, a helpful person.
At this given moment, late at night - I am now questioning how helpful I really am, hence the thought of therapy in the first place. It's as if I've reached the point of being completely sick of my mental thought process, but that's not it, there's a horribly long list, and I'm an exceptional list maker. My uncontrollable urges to say what I hold to be self evident (and combined with the influence of alcohol, is a force so terribly strong that no one, and I mean no one, wants to listen to - even if it holds a shred of credibility - hidden amongst the malicious poison in the positioning of my lightning bolt pinpointed pokes and prods.) What gave me the god honest right to tell others what I think they should do? How have I made these justifications? After you tell yourself something over and over again,you truly start to believe it is completely and absolutely okay.
How repetitive I can be - Miss Repeating Parrot. My mind is trying very hard to believe what I say, so out it stumbles - in hopes that, at the same time, others will believe it too. 'Oh I've lived in this place and I did this and this happened and I'm trying to accomplish this," Great. Say it a few times, well okay. Say it any more than that, exnay on the oopid stay. Dwelling on the rough bumps in the past needs to be washed away - the future and the unknown are trying to wiggle their way in, alas - there's still a swinging no vacancy sign. 'What is keeping them so long?' they wonder.
Is it that awkward prospect of... love? the most mysterious indefinable fallacy (note the extreme oxymoron) - translative and questioned in every language - am I really just waiting around, putting my life on hold, driving myself and others crazy because of... love? Am I that gullible and naive? Oddly enough, after two years of throwing myself at (not to) the dogs (after two previous years of manipulative misery - on both ends, may I add respectively) I am attempting something with someone. Tippy toe, day to day,with the highest level of uncertainty (and pushing against my fatalistic, defeatist, holier than thou attitude.) Do I really want to tell anyone about that? In a town where secrecy is problematic, I am making the decision to keep something to myself for once (even though thoughts of creating a column about these specific endeavors constantly run around in circles in my head: probably on lap 5,698 - and that's only this past month.)
To Be Continued (Bed time.)
1 comment:
First off: periods always belong on the outside of a parenthesis when ending a sentence.
The fact that you are, "attempting something with someone" with high levels of uncertainty, fatalism and a "holier than thou" outlook might lead that person, with whom you may or may not be "attempting something" to think that what you are attempting is tantamount to a venture like a cliff dive or a bungee jump at a state fair.
I have no idea who this someone may be, or what this "something" might consist of (do you?), but I wonder if you have asked, explicitly, what that person might think about your "attempts."
Why do you even worry about "secrecy?" Are you ashamed about your attempt (at bungee jumping, cliff diving, whatever) or is there something else in play? If there are other issues you owe it to the cliff/bungee cord/person to come clean.
Waiting for a better jumping-off point is understandable. Just be honest and open. I have the feeling the cliff/bungee cord/person would be happy to know what is what.
Post a Comment