I'm sitting on the uncomfortable cushion of the steal chairs in my pretty new cotton black dress. Like a little kid I have both feet pulled up off the floor and I'm sitting Indian style.
In my dress.
All I need is a head-dress with feathers and a peace pipe to complete the ensemble.
I need to have my feet and arms pulled in as close to me as possible. Otherwise, I'm too exposed. I feel too vulnerable.
The buzz of recovery is floating around the room. I hear it go in one ear, feel it float around my head, then weep out of the other ear. I'm looking around, I finally find a focal point on the wall that I can burn my eyes through. The anger inside me is building.
It's been there since Saturday. I can't seem to find it's source, but it's been festering for days. I fed the anger well. The wave of disgust passes over me as I think of how much I fed that festering sore.
It just fell out of my mouth.
"I'm really fucking angry."
There it was again.
Then, the tears down my hot cheeks as I feel my voice come out of my dry throat. Never once taking my eyes off the wall.
The air is filled with fear in the form anger, disgust, hate and rage.
Once the words stop...
My feet are now place firmly on the floor.
The fear is replaced with hope and love.
Words, give wounds the air they need in order to heal.
It's a brand new day..and with each passing day I become more at ease