Deer and Driver

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I cried today.  There are things in my life worthy of tears.   I usually don’t go there.   Avoiding the tears makes getting through a day much easier.   Underneath it all, those sad pieces poke at me and make me uncomfortable.  It’s like my own psychic hair shirt.  Just thinking about a hair shirt makes me itch.  Hair shirts always seem worse than sack cloth and ashes.   But, I digress and on purpose. . . to avoid feeling.

Not long ago, I decided to get back into therapy. Not having any health insurance or any disposable income did not deter me.  I found a local non-profit agency that works with people in my income bracket.     The therapists are often students i.e. therapists with training wheels.  As fate would have it, I have been paired up with a young women who seems to be a natural born therapist.  Occasionally, the gods of fate are very kind.

I flatter myself by thinking I am a very high-functioning depressive.  I’d like to think that most people don’t have a clue  about the oceans of  sadness that lie just below my surface.  One of my best coping skills is denying that those oceans exist.  It’s a nasty hair-shirt-sort-of skill.   Taking care of others has always been more important than taking care of myself.  At the end of the day, when I am  alone with my awareness that life is not turning out like I’d hoped, I feel sad.  I am the deer in my own headlights.

Collision is imminent.  Both the deer and the driver, I am paralyzed by all that has happened in the past.  All that baggage rides around with me in this hearse of a car and runs down pieces of myself when ever it get a chance.  I am tortured by having to watch these accidents over and over.  I feel unable to turn away.  Given this, therapy would seem like a very good idea.

Some times, it is nice to be the center of some one’s attention, especially when you feel sucked dry by life.  A lot of the time, it’s just hard work.  Today, it was painful work.  Crying may not seem like progress but for me it is a giant leap forward.

The sinus headache that greeted me upon awakening has got worse after the tears.  The pain behind my eyes won’t let me forget the pain in my soul.  I hurt in so many places both the hidden and the known.

Yet, as I, deer and driver,  drift downward into an ocean of sadness, I see that underneath it all, at the bottom of the ocean, there is a place of great quiet and calm.  The deepest part of me accepts the sadness in a way it never had.   I touch the bottom of the ocean and begin to swim toward the surface and the light.







I am the person behind the words printed here. I write because my heart will not allow me the option of NOT writing. It has taken me half a life time to discover this basic truth, but now that I have, writing is as natural as breathing. This is where my breath takes the form of words.


I am reading

The Miracle Morning: The Not-So-Obvious Secret Guaranteed to Transform Your Life (Before 8AM)
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