A guilty conscience needs to confess. A work of art is a confession.
Thank goodness for good friends.
It's like you don't even plan to talk about it. You've sworn yourself to an idiotic vow of silent pain. For some reason that seems like the way to save the little shreds that remain of your sad pride. And then you're eased into this place where you're sharing laughs and love and where you are safe.
It happened today. I was taken to that place and all that has been in my heart and on my mind for weeks now spilled out onto that plastic table. Right there. In the middle of the restaurant. I cried. For nearly an hour. In a dear friends arms. It was like the flood gates that have been slowly leaking for a while now finally broke from pressure and although the destruction is severe, the water will dry and most things can be salvaged. I walked away from lunch exposed and tender, I also walked away loved. I couldn't ask for better friends.
It occurred to me while thinking of this post that I'm constantly writing about new goals and fresh starts (it also occurred to me just how emotional I've become comfortable getting in such a public sphere). But I think that's the point; this life will constantly be about beginning again. There is no sense in beating myself up about once again existing in this hopeless place I thought I'd said goodbye to. There is also no sense in hiding it from the ones I love. And that is because I have been here before, and I know my way out.
So I'm putting myself to work. Salvaging my flooded life. Again. Even though it makes me mad that I've spent officially half this year trying to pull myself out of this hole, and I keep slipping back in...Tomorrow I will wake up before noon. I will lay my yoga mat out. And I will face myself. because the alternative is not an alternative anymore.