It's Time

Yesterday, my therapist gave an edict:

Write down everything that has happened to you.

Where do I even begin...

I've been putting her directive off all day today. Now, it is time. I need to do this. I know that I do.

It's not that it's anything new--the concept of writing about my life and my experiences up to this point. It's what will go into the book that I'm currently working on.

It's the painful memories that I'm avoiding.

And the voice of my mother as I attempt to just tell my story. I can hear her telling me why I shouldn't write something this way or that way, or why my life wasn't really that bad. Trying to fight past her voice--and others--is one of the obstacles to overcome.

Delving into the experiences of my life by exposing them in words is like plunging off a high cliff into choppy, murky, thick, swamp-like waters. I don't know what all is below the surface; I only know I'm going in and on purpose. And it also feels like wading into molten lava. Again, I can see myself intentionally walking into it, as if it were the calmest decision I have ever made.

I cannot see how I am upon emergence from either of these two "seas".

But it's time for me to go, to enter. To face the pain, the fear, the anxiety, the anger, the hot tears, the screaming...

I pray I come out stronger on the other side. Here goes...