This morning I let it out. I poured myself onto the kitchen table over a cup of coffee. I let the tears fall freely down my stained cheeks. I didn’t hold back. I dared speak of demons that have been haunting me for the past number of years. Saying them aloud felt like hot metal scouring my throat. The words burned like they had never burned before.
And then there was my mother, kind and humbling. Accepting my demons. Gentle with her responses. Ready to scoop me into her arms and hold me until I felt whole again. I was so grateful.
Releasing these demons into the open plains, we call a conversation was something I was afraid of. As if it was a sin to tell the tale of how you became the way you are today. Practically throwing myself into unknown territory, waiting to see if I’d survive the exposure.
And I did.
It’s times like these I wish I had a quick way of fixing the issues at hand. To tick them off of a checklist sounds comical and utterly nonsensical, although if I could make a list of them and fix them as I go, I would be in a much better state of mind. But, as reality sinks in, this is not a viable option.
I know I should be doing something about this, but as for right now, I only wish to curl up in layers of warm blankets with a book and a cup of hot tea and ignore the world around me. At least for a little while longer.