I smile and wonder if GeeMa is with me in spirit. It has been seven years, yet nothing has changed. The road home is long, winding, and lined with honeysuckle trees. The scent is as relaxing as the ride home. The houses with manicured lawns, people conversing on a front porch, children riding their bikes, and playing in their yards only causes me to think back to my childhood days of growing up in Waycross, Georgia. Everything yet nothing was wrong with it. Maybe it’s me.
I knew more than I was willing to admit. Me not addressing a truth is denial. And by denying and refusing to accept something as it is, I was only lying to myself.
I’m stressing beyond anything recognizable by man. I cannot and will not let the daily pressures of today’s society put wear and tear on me, mentally or physically. Just admitting that I’m crazy as hell, mentally challenged and so far gone, that no doctor can do for me what a friend wouldn’t dare do; which is, ask me the necessary questions, and listen to my answers knowing damn well that I need more help than they can offer. But not ready to hear them suggest, as of yet.
Telling lies and keeping secrets is my norm. I’ve grown to accept that sometimes a lie, if dressed right, looks better than the truth. All secrets are deep, and some are dark and dangerous.
The hurt and negativity I embody have been a struggle for me for as long as I can remember. No medication, love, hug, smile, or psychiatrist can fully erase the aching and instability the dwells within me. I’ve been thinking long and hard about eradicating this “mess within me” and have decided that I must start now.
In confronting my past to survive my present, I must end this madness that exists within me. Lies and secrets cloud the mind, infect the soul, and destroy any chance of healing.


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