That it’s a scary life to share, sometimes scarier alone, but often sharing it is the most gut-wrenchingly painful experience when we live in the layer of fear of unknown expression.
I don’t want to be here, in this place, doing these things. I am wishing myself apart and breaking in my distaste. But maybe my un-wanting can only take me so far and maybe here is where I need to be. Maybe my needs have to be heard and held more than my wants right now.
I don’t ever remember feeling less broken than I now feel, even as a babe in arms, even as I feel shattered and distant from each part of my being. Yet, maybe, this is whole. Maybe I was made to be this broken and my pieces don’t fit into a singular mold. One shape does not fit all and maybe my broken pieces will always be scattered and longing to be embraced by each other but the abstract mess is a whole picture, if not one whole shape.
That decisions made before I have opened my eyes are not usually my best.
Everything is too loud. The ringing in my ears needs drowning out but distraction noise is piercing to my heart, for my head is washing itself clean with screaming memory and so added sound feels deafening.
I need to walk until I get lost and that is how I will be found.
Life is slipping through my fingers, but that is okay because we can’t cling onto life with our bare hands alone; life is everywhere and though we can hold parts long and fast and steady, life is forever circulating the air we breathe and feeding the ground we fall upon. By letting go of what we once clung to we give our hands the freedom to feel the vast expanse of life that is not constricted to our grip.
Leaving was the best thing I ever did. But I’ve still not found my way home.
There is pain in forgetting and pain in remembering. And yet it is always the experience itself that made us forget and remember and this is where the pain was first born.
I can make so many arguments for why I shouldn’t do this, or why I can’t do that; I can reason and rationalise to make decisions seem intellectually sound and humanly plausible. But often, I’m just making excuses to avoid situations that make me want to hide under the covers in fear.
That I am human, and maybe I need to give myself a break sometimes (…just for ten minutes, because I’ve got things to find, people to please, appointments to keep, beating-up-of-oneself to do… Oh crap, I did it again didn’t I?…)