It’s time for me to quiet my thoughts, I tend to not only think about me, myself, and I, but over there, them, those, they, him, her, and …who the hell are you, geez…it is like having an earthquake going on inside and no one sees it, feels it, or gives too much thought to it. I’ve become cautious about talking, what I say, and who I say it to. I’ve become cautious, period. I don’t let people in the way I did when I was young, and somehow I feel like I might be missing something, or something is missing in me.
I know life changes us, the good, the bad, the ugly and the beautiful, and it has changed me. I’m a loner for the most part, at least for most of my life, and it’s difficult for me to let anyone see any part of my suffering outright or to grasp my happiness. I just don’t do well with the advice, pat answers, the you should, or you could, and I know it’s because I’ve always figured things out on my own. I tried therapy when I was young, but I guess I had an aversion to someone asking me how I could change what I was feeling…I wanted to say, listen b*tch, if I knew how to change it, I wouldn’t be here talking to you, now would I? Instead, I just sat there, shrugged my shoulders, and she pried and tried and finally the hour was over, and that was the last hour I spent having someone try to analyze my inner demons.
I know how to be analytical, I know I can make “everything” seem as if it falls together, and I suppose I know every stupid answer there is on how to “cure” myself. I just didn’t do it. I felt, on a whole different level of intelligence, that it was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever put myself through, therapy…I’ll take a spa trip over that any day! Maybe it works for you, but it sure as hell didn’t for me!
Instead, I wrote…and wrote…and laughed, and cried…and wrote. I had stacks of paper with my words, stacks of paper with drawings, stacks of paper that spelled out years of my life, I miss going back to them, I miss seeing the girl becoming a woman. I don’t have them anymore, I barely have anything that speaks to my past. A few pictures, a note or two, cards, letters…and my blog. I fill these pages with emotions, either past or present, the ins and outs of my spirit and yet, I have this feeling that I can’t really put into words, as if I live on a different plain, too emotional, too smart, too direct..too..too..too. It’s like holding a candle up in a dark cave and I can’t see far enough back or far enough forward. It’s never really been a point in my life, it is just who I became, who I was, who I am, who I will be, but something feels ominous about it, like I’ve given too much of myself away.
I used to envy those who are takers. I can’t be one, it makes me cringe to think I even thought about being less about emotion and more about not feeling anything. I felt myself getting hard around the edges. I felt it didn’t matter because I felt like I didn’t matter. I started taking it all in stride. I forgot how it felt to be taken. I negated those memories because I was angry and hurt and I didn’t want to cry again, I didn’t want to feel, I didn’t want to hold on, letting go was easier…no, no it wasn’t. I could only fool my heart for so long, I pushed back when I got pushed, I stared at death for a long time but I had reasons to live, to go on. I’ve become more of a recluse than a loner…I’ve sat in these ashes for long enough, long enough for me to see that feeling whatever I am is okay, and that being true to yourself makes you see through the lies, the stupid games, the idiocy of standing there taking it. I’m so done with allowing in the negativity, I’m done thinking that what I stand for and believe can change someone into something they’re not, or never going to be. I can’t make anyone feel what it makes me feel like inside and so it is a moot point to stand screaming at the top of my lungs when there’s no one to listen but me. I suppose I should have realized this a long time ago, but that was a long time ago, and I’m not into sorting through the garbage. I feel a change coming, I feel like standing in the sun again, I feel like I need to find my way, and that part of me that has been drowning in a mire of memories, love, anger, healed, hurt, sad, happy, isn’t who I am, I want consistency! Is that too much to want, to ask for? Well if it is, that’s your problem, not mine…or maybe it is…