Counseling session was yesterday. The day was busy and trying to get everything squared away threw me off a bit. I ran late getting to the appointment, which is not like me at all. Racing in, kicking my shoes off and finding my comfort spot on the couch had to come quick. I’d been looking forward to this discussion with my counselor. I’ve had sleep problems and had the past come to visit me. I needed to find comfort and guidance.

I felt as though I was just throwing words all over the place in no apparent order. I kept apologizing for jumping around with my thoughts, struggling for the right words. Amy knows me well and can tell when I’m restless. On this day it was so obvious. I couldn’t sit still, pulling on my limbs, rubbing on my foot. The agitation that festered in me was seeping through. She asked hard questions, but I’m used to that. At times I felt guarded, even though I’m so comfortable with her. She wanted to know more about my dark side.

My fear has been and continues to be that the darkness will take over. I fear the loss of control – of coldness, uncaring, vindictive, and angry feelings. I carry these things with me. I take no pride in them, but they’re a part of me. The discussion brought us back to why I still walk the streets where I grew up. I never seem to have a clear answer to it. I always say that I feel a level of comfort there. I don’t fear anything, although I probably should. I know that evil lurks around almost every corner of these streets. There are always eyes upon you, examining, watching and assessing you. I know this because I did much the same. “Outsiders” are not welcome. This can be said in almost any neighborhood.

I was asked if I was in a more prominent neighborhood would I feel welcome or out of place. I’d feel out of place and unwelcome. These feelings come from years of being looked upon as garbage, or of lesser value. Being poor in America can feel like a crime all on its own. When you wear second-hand clothes, or have to walk everywhere. Perhaps you ride the bus or share a bedroom with siblings because it’s the only space you have. These kinds of things don’t make you “suitable” in some areas. I admit that I have a chip on my shoulder. I take issue with those who look down on people who struggle. I think it shows on my face, or at least I’ve been told. People have told me that when they see me walking they think I look different. I look intimidating and unapproachable. I think Amy described it well. She said I have a “bring it on” attitude. She’s right, and in having this I put myself at risk. So, why do I continue to do this? Why do I continue to walk these streets?

The next meetings are going to be more about digging into this darkness. It’s an uncomfortable topic. It always makes me think of a writing by Friedrick Nietzsche. “If you stare at the Abyss long enough, it stares back at you.” His writing is thought provoking, yet skewed. The concept of looking into the darkness that resides within is both terrifying and intriguing. The journey into said place will be draining I’m sure. I’ve stated numerous times that I have problems looking into the mirror because I don’t care for what I see. This would be the next level. Not only looking at myself in a mirror, but truly looking at myself on the inside. Mysteries are there to hopefully be solved. I’ll accept the challenge and work to move forward. I have to believe that there’s better on the other side.

I’d like to take this time to remind everyone that September is National Suicide Prevention month. There are so many who struggle with things that even I can’t comprehend. Take some time to look out for others. Step into a space that might be uncomfortable. Observe those who have reached a point of brokenness where they see no other avenue but to leave this earth. This is part of the reason that I continue to write. If you’re out there and struggling, I see you. I want you to know that you can make it another day. “One day at a time.” We are all humans and have value.

National mental health crisis hotline is 800-273-TALK (8255) or you can simply dial “988” for the Suicide and Crisis lifeline.

Thank you for following along on my journey.

~Robert~