Saturday, November 3, 2012

Writing is My Therapy

She put down the phone.

Emotions ran thru her
like water runs down a mountain.
Talking to him felt like that mountain,
and she was exhausted from the hike.
She felt caught yet again
between the rock and the hard place.

A feeling not unfamiliar to her
when it came
to the father
of her children.
Even tho it had been
30 years... suddenly
she could remember...
the fear,
the memories,
the anger,
and the utter hopelessness
of change ever happening.
She struggled to remain
who she was now,
rather than who she was then.

But at the same time,
suddenly she was
back in familiar territory.
Single parenthood,
as alone as ever,
making the decisions
on her own,
with her son paying
the consequences.

Oh no.  If I write as if
this were about someone else -
write in the third person,
as if she were a fictional person,
when everyone will know it's about me...
by doing that
does it mean I'm in denial,
it didn't affect me, 
it didn't really happen?

What kind of therapy
would that be?


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