Let the Roses Weep

It's Saturday morning and I have been out playing in my garden. I could call it work but for me it is a joy. I got up early to cut my small patch of grass but there was so much more to tend. I watered, weeded, mulched, transplanted. I visited each flower and bush. I love my time in the garden. It replenishes me. It reminds me of who I am and what I believe in. I can love safely in my garden. I can plant, give care and watch things grow. And when something dies there is always new growth.

The roses of my sweet summer romance are now hanging their heads. I still think they are beautiful They are red now, without the blush of pink they once had. The romance itself lasted about as long as the roses. But perhaps, like them, there is still beauty in it, even in its demise.

I have post traumatic stress. I can say it out loud. I believe it now. We were tapping it in therapy but did not put a name on it. It is triggered by men, in intimate relationships with men. I had a major breakthrough as a result of this encounter, this little romance. I cannot deny that the PTS is there anymore. I don't know so much what those words mean, but I am willing to go back to therapy and find out. I am not afraid of it. I just want to take care of myself. My therapist friend was very helpful last night. I wish I could get over the past. And no longer allow it to cloud the present and make threats against my future. She says there is hope for me and I believe that.

Depression, PTS, whatever. I am getting through this life and finding the joy in it. Where there is joy and healing I will go. What gives me peace I will keep close.

So let the roses weep. With their heads hung low. They can weep for me. For the little girl lost. I'll be out in the garden sowing new seeds.