This post was submitted by ejacksonindc

If I didn’t get out of the house I was going to say something I would later regret. When I reach that point, the time delay between my thoughts and the toxic sludge spewing from my mouth is nonexistent, and my words destroy any possibility of redemption. I become a casualty of my own need to be heard. This time, I kept my mouth shut, grabbed my camera and walked out of the house. I climbed into my Jeep. The top was down; the radio was blaring something loud with lots of guitar and drums and a hot, tattooed and pierced rocker singing how much he wished I was there. I guess this is the point where I am supposed to congratulate myself for not making things worse, but I was still boiling over with rage. The anger was tangible. It was a nitroglycerin film, a second layer of skin covering my entire body. If I had to deal with one more thing, any one little, tiny irritating thing, I was going to burst into flames. I was gritting my teeth and driving way too fast. I should be happy that I walked away. After spending thousands of dollars letting some shrink work her evil voodoo inside my head, all I get it the “satisfaction” of walking away? That’s crap! Somehow I wound up at Gravelly Point, a park near Washington National Airport. I hung out taking pictures for a while and watching the planes disappear behind clouds that looked like soot covered mounds of snow. When I looked at the images I’d captured, I saw this one. It was my phoenix majestically rising from the neon embers and asphalt. It was the best in me–my hopes, my dreams, and my desire to be happy–separating itself from the chaos and ascending to the next level in my personal growth. The nuclear melt down had been averted. “Okay, screw it,” I thought. I still love him, and maybe it’s worth meeting up with the voodoo priestess in the morning for another round of head shrinking.

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