“We’re only as sick as our secrets”
I know this;
teach it to countless others.
I suspect you know as well.
And yet, I’ve been harboring a secret.
Yeah. I know. I’m a psychotherapist.
Supposed to be a professional. Assisting others.
But the last I checked, even those with Ph.D.’s aren’t immune to being human.
Flawed.
Imperfect.
And like everyone else, my closets got some skeletons.
Secrets.
Today though, it’s time for some brutal honesty.
To acknowledge my secret lover.
There! I finally said it!
Ohh, this woman’s so fine! Occupying my thoughts by day;
take her to bed at night.
She’s seductive.
Nefarious.
Toxic really.
But oh, so attractive.
Can’t shake this damn attraction.
As much as I try.
I wonder about that attraction.
Perhaps its addiction?
She’s Delilah to my Samsonian willpower.
A slave to her calling. She beckons – I run.
I hate loving her.
Because she doesn’t allow room for anyone else.
Interferes with my other relationships.
I’m a reasonably intelligent guy.
But I can’t end it. Even though I know, I should.
Guess it’s like love on my brain.
Or is that lust?
I need some distance. The cravings are just too powerful.
Panic and worry set in when she’s gone.
Frantically seeking her out.
This mistress.
Prostitute really –
after all, I pay for her services.
But if there’s a sickness in secrets,
there must be something curative about revelation.
So goodbye Juul, my secret lover,
you’re my secret no longer.
And admitting that – saying it aloud – is a huge step.
“We admitted we were powerless – that our lives had become unmanageable.”
Thus goes Step One of the 12-step fellowships.
My life is actually quite manageable and in control.
But you can’t deny the power of admission.
Shining light on the dark.
Peeling away the mask.
Unveiling what’s been hidden.
From others.
And perhaps from myself.
Juul, you may still be my lover;
but you’re no longer a secret.
And that’s gotta be worth something...