Waiting Room

Once again I sit in a waiting room, ready to open my soul- bare- to a stranger in hopes that he can tweak me, slightly adjust these parts of my mind that seem not to work and modify my mentality. Or is a total overhaul in order? Or maybe, just maybe, nothing at all- just a swift kick in the balls?

When we sit down what should I discuss? My history exposes valleys and peaks- do I include the moments of which I rarely speak? Am I really that bad? Really that off? Or could we just look at my good side where it’s not that rough? Should we delve a little deeper, digging past the carefully crafted, meticulously maintained exterior, to expose the deep flaws and dark places hidden inside my mind?

Sitting in the waiting room, waiting to bare my soul, I realize it may be too late to claim disclosure is in my control, as the cracks are already showing I’m not whole. Straining to hold it together the past years of my life makes it easier to see that everything’s not right. Don’t judge by my appearance as it can still mislead, but get me talking about my struggles that have grown suffocating as weeds.

Time to have no fear and let it all out; not try to fight but instead laugh, cry and shout. All in one day, I’m nasty and nice; my moods vacillate with the roll of the dice. Keep quiet when I’m down and lay low when I’m high, fearing others might notice and then they might pry. Sometimes can’t stop crying when others aren’t around and other days can’t cry if my house burnt to the ground. Either laugh way too much, telling inappropriate jokes, or can’t laugh at all, even with a few tokes. For these past couple years I’ve taken many a hit, but try as a might I still feel like shit.

I’m hungry, I’m empty, I’m lost, I’m confused. Will you help me, my doctor, or is this just one more ruse?

I wait in the waiting room, with a simple appeal: fix me, doctor, fix how I feel.

A moment or two more, I’m left alone. I realize while waiting I don’t sink like a stone. All this time I’ve been staying afloat- really don’t need doc to throw me a rope. I’m open, no doubt, to learning how better to swim, receiving guidance to navigate this ocean I’m in.

But my time for waiting has now come to an end; already long overdue for me to mend. I lift up my eyes, look at the clock, no longer waiting on the doc.

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