Getting There

I asked my friend a most interesting question last week: Do you think I ought to seek out a psychiatrist? His reply: Only if you think you need prescribed medicinal help. Otherwise, you’d be alright with just someone to guide you in a structured thinking manner.

I spent my lunch, sitting by the steps leading to my building, with my coffee on my side, cigarette in hand and book in lap. I’m currently reading The Zahir by Paulo Coelho and it’s making me see, think and feel things in a way that connects in my present frame of mind.

The Bear, who has been away, has been catching up on my postings and it has been a lot. But the truth is: NONE of them were rants! Writing has always been a form of therapy to me. When I sit down and write a posting for my blog, it reaches into the deepest recesses of my mind and encapsulates all that I think, feel and fear into words. And it is only here that I feel most comfortable letting it all out, in the manner that it has manifested itself. Cos the things that I think, feel and fear - they are not things which people talk about ordinarily.

I have to say this and say this here: I feel like I’m going on a different road – the road less traveled. One where the aim is to find the things that have made me stuck, standing still and admitting that I am stuck, and staring that acomodador in the eye and then moving on.

Saying “I don’t know why” or “I don’t want to talk about it” or “If I stay very still, it will pass me and go away” is no longer good enough. It drains me, it destroys me. I destroy me. And I give up control of myself to me.

I want this so badly, I can taste it in my mouth, feel it in my gut. But it doesn’t happen overnight. Even realizing something is not going to change things immediately. I have to mull it over, let it rip, let it out – over and over and over again, until it FEELS like the someone else’s story.

Then, and only then, will I know I’m there.