There are all kinds of therapy.
For example, I attempted
the old fashioned hip kind of therapy with a psychologist dude who sat boorishly
sketching pictures of circles and letters.
He nodded and grinned. He adjusted his stupid glasses around his ears.
He glanced at his sparkling watch. He peeked inside his Diagnostic
and Statistical Manual.
He muttered stuff like,
“Today is a gift; that’s why we call it the present,” and “Your sister isn’t coming back, and “When
my mother-in-law passed away at 82, we concentrated on joyful times.”
Thus, all I could observe plastered to his forehead following
those sessions were…
Dumb Ass. Idiot.
How could I possibly respect a man with those dreadful words
wedged to his head in neon lights?
How could I trust a man who compared my sister’s unspeakable
murder to his 82 year old mother-in-law who died in her sleep?
After that, I tried “Wine
It was good for a while, worked for a while.
I felt anesthetized and sedated. Sort of like how a butterfly must feel when
pinned through its thorax.
That’s no damn life. That’s a miserable damn life. Especially without the wings.
So, I couldn’t become
an alcoholic after all. I mean, even
after a bottle per day ( I waited until 5 pm because of the guilt) nothing
transformed or erased my weeping, bleeding organs.
In case you haven’t received the memo, mourning is merely born and doesn’t fucking DIE.
And red wine, even
the good kind, cannot drown out the
loneliness or the missing or the shadows of a despicable act.
They are all still stinking of rot and decay in the
Okay, let me start
What I’m trying to articulate is this: Nothing can truly save you unless you want to
be saved in the first place.
There are no shortcuts.
No treatments for the ill-fated— unless she opens herself
wide open to something greater than herself.
As for me, I
I tried to walk around the flames, but realized quickly that I needed to walk
directly through the fire.
It hurts. It hurts
like something inexplicable, unexplainable, undeniable.
But I’m walking.
I’m holding God’s hand.
Now and again, at the
most unexpected, surprising times, I
feel the warmth of the entire sun pouring upon my face.
And I smile… because I know everything’s going to be
—–Dear, Reader, do you believe in God? X X xxx
~~~~Get Help NOW for Verbal Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Physical Abuse–800-799-SAFE (7233) or at TTY 1-800-787-3224.
http://www.thehotline.org/get-help/help-in-your-area/ PLEASE Do Not Wait One. More. Solitary. Day.