Time

Time heals all wounds, or so they say. It’s the kind of platitude that well-meaning people say when they don’t know how to react to your superficial confession of a trauma. The kind of statement that completely stops whatever you were saying in your tracks, as you internally roll your eyes and lose the moment of courage you had to talk about your wounds.

For me, time is a reminder of all that has been, is, and will be. Time is for looking fondly at past experiences and loves, for pondering decisions and paths, and for analyzing and letting go of regrets.

I’m a very impulsive person. Part of that has to do with the fact that I have Attention Deficit Disorder, which manifests in me as organized chaos meet spontaneous shopping addict meet hyper-emotional drama laden loyal to the end friend.

I have coping strategies surrounding discretionary spending so that I don’t spend $3500 on a giant inflatable duck (like a friend I know!) at 2am cause I can’t sleep.

I have coping strategies surrounding my memory, wherein I tell everyone that if they don’t physically SEE me putting whatever I’ve said I’ll do in my phone or journal it won’t get done. My tribe know that that’s never personal, it’s just my fifteen track mind tangenting away from whatever got me started in the first place.

Finally, I also have coping strategies surrounding my diving in to relationships of all forms, because I’m a giving soul and I get burnt out and hurt a lot. Generally, by the time I’ve thought through the possible consequences of an action, I’m there, in that moment, frozen in time. This means I meet a lot of very interesting people, sometimes I make new friends or lovers, and sometimes I’m hurt very badly.

Today I sat down and looked at all the time I’ve devoted to my coping strategies so that my life is in some kind of order that works for me. And I looked at my friends and my acquaintances and my unknown category people and my lovers, and despite my current heartache I’m still glad I spend the time trying in all the ways.