The past few weeks have been incredibly challenging. I am daring to reach for things that have eluded me all the while feeling like the things I have are slipping through my fingers and there’s nothing I or anyone can do about it. For a person obsessed with control like myself, that is torture in its purest form. I sacrifice myself daily on the altar of my faith, I lay down all of the things I’m carrying, trusting that I will find relief and strength. Faith is challenging me, daring me even, to believe, to hope, to want. My past however, is taunting me loudly with constant reminders of how believing bruised me beyond belief. So now I am afraid to want, because not getting it in itself is painful enough, but knowing that I wanted it enough to chase it will hurt thrice as much. Still my inner knowing persists, the ever present light guiding me through the dark.
Breathe dearest.
I walk around going through the motions meanwhile every ten seconds I am left to my devices I feel the walls closing in around me, the reminder that I am no more no less ever constant. Fear my long lost companion is back and no longer confined to the shadows. It’s in the fervency and urgency of my prayers, it’s in the echoes of my broken wails I hear at dawn and dusk, it’s everywhere I go, everywhere I look. I am terrified, God am I terrified. I am screaming, but no one is listening. I don’t understand, can’t anyone hear me? I am walking around bleeding yet everyone is going about their business as though they can’t see life ebbing out of me. What’s worse is: even if I tried to explain they would call me mad and deem me certifiable.
Dearest, breathe.
I thought ignoring my past and looking forward was the only way. I thought I would get consumed by the fear but maybe, just maybe the best way to deal with the monsters isn’t by closing my eyes and willing them away. It is by confronting them. I mean, how much more broken and bruised can a person get? I am tired. Tired of the fear, the gut gnawing anxiety, tired of the high of wanting and hoping, tired of the anticipation, I am tired. Mother tells me to whom much is given much is expected. I don’t feel like I have everything left to give. Every breath feels like my last. All I want is to be.
Breathe dear.
You have been searching for me in the words I have written, trying to piece together what I am feeling. Depending on the post I was either heartbroken, depressed or crazy. Lucky you made it here. So here I am. I wish how I felt could be encapsulated by one word or a couple, all I know is that it feels like a rollercoaster. Except the highs don’t feel like highs and the lows feel like rock-bottom. I feel the walls closing in again so excuse me.
Breathe dear.