Wednesday, September 26, 2012

worth it.

Post-work, killing time at the library with iced coffee. Renee is released from her own work day at 5 adn then we are going to walk to another neighborhood. It's nice to have a place to go, a friend to spend time with, on a rainy day like this. If I didn't have a destination I would most likely head home and sleep. This is, after all, crazy-good sleepin' weather.

I'm a turtle slowly nudging her way out of the shell. One little leg wrinkle at a time, edging out and squinting against the light. Over the past few months I've felt almost toxic to others--my disposition and general attitude whittled down to a dull, dull point. A defensive dull point even though there is nothing to defend. I couldn't shake the feeling, couldn't wise up and be present in moments. I'd sit in a booth all close with a handful of friends and find myself staring off in the distance. And that's if I got out of the house. Unfortunately I had grown quite skilled at stopping myself before the front door, some inner ugly thing reasoning that my presence wasn't needed or wanted, convinced the easiest thing was to not face the anxiety. At the same time, during all of this withdrawling, I was terribly lonely. That kind of lonely that throbs and grows and learns how to swallow(particularly people, particularly me). Such a weird clump of feelings to deal with.

I'm edging out of darkness and into some light. Things like this require time and effort, and not just effort but the type of grunt work that involves falling a lot and getting back up. So I've been stumbling and dusting myself off. I've been reaching out when I need to, reaching out to the right things. I contacted a therapist. When I wake up in the morning, I think about what kind of day I want to have. I consider the experiences, people, and visual things that make me happy, that calm my heart, and I drift closer to them. I am fighting for it.

What thrills me most is writing and connecting. The roots of all my things and thoughts. I come back to it again and again, my lighthouse in the lost waters of a pissed off sea. I'm alright if I have a page to scribble on, and I'm good if I have other human beings to listen to. Yes, the listening. Right now it is more important than talking. I've owned up to the heavy indigo cloud surrounding my halo lately. I've said all I can about it to those close to me. Now it is in the action. The act of being better. The act of self-love and safety first. The act of being brave, of trust. There are so many things.

To sum it up, I'm gonna be just fine.

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