I could use a fresh beginning too; all of my regrets are nothing new.
I pray. I pray that my sins have not caught up with me the way I’d always feared they would.
I cannot feel my legs beneath me. What are these heavy weights attached to my feet? I turn and I am on my bottom, sliding. Wet and cold against my bare arms - I should have left my sweater on.
How quickly we forget.
And I am trying, to forget. How I wish I could. I’m sick of it - everything would be easier if I just hated it all. If only I could forget about how much I loved it. Remove the ‘d,’ you idiot. Can’t you remember to do even a stupid thing like that?
A friend of mine in high school was an extremely pretty girl. She said once that sometimes she wished she would get into an accident so her face would become scarred and ugly and she would no longer be beautiful. She wasn’t being narcissistic or anything - she was speaking the truth.
At the time, I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand. I didn’t then - and don’t still- find myself to be beautiful. What a luxury it must be, I thought, to have such beauty and want to wish it away. But now I see all too clearly - it wasn’t so much that she was pretty; it was the emphasis placed on it. She wanted something else. She wanted to be liberated.
And so it is with me.
How easy it would be, now, if I were to sustain a hip injury and have an excuse - a reason to not go back. I am gifted, I acknowledge this. Is it my love of being so extremely talented that keeps me going, rather than the sport itself? Because of my potential, I keep returning. I keep coming back. It is eating me alive.
And I am devoured.
It is out of my hands. I have come back, and here I remain. And will remain, on the ice, despite what further emotional implications it might create. It will create. It is creating right now.
Because I can see that this isn’t working. I’m not really living. What I would give right now, for none of this to ever have happened.
I’m dying to breathe in these abundant skies.
Stolen of course. As always.
The little choices I used to make, the miniscule amounts of control I used to exert, such freedom now seems almost weightless.
Jamie
[This has been unlocked for the 2006 Rings Awards. It will return to friends only once the voting has been completed.]
I cannot feel my legs beneath me. What are these heavy weights attached to my feet? I turn and I am on my bottom, sliding. Wet and cold against my bare arms - I should have left my sweater on.
How quickly we forget.
And I am trying, to forget. How I wish I could. I’m sick of it - everything would be easier if I just hated it all. If only I could forget about how much I loved it. Remove the ‘d,’ you idiot. Can’t you remember to do even a stupid thing like that?
A friend of mine in high school was an extremely pretty girl. She said once that sometimes she wished she would get into an accident so her face would become scarred and ugly and she would no longer be beautiful. She wasn’t being narcissistic or anything - she was speaking the truth.
At the time, I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand. I didn’t then - and don’t still- find myself to be beautiful. What a luxury it must be, I thought, to have such beauty and want to wish it away. But now I see all too clearly - it wasn’t so much that she was pretty; it was the emphasis placed on it. She wanted something else. She wanted to be liberated.
And so it is with me.
How easy it would be, now, if I were to sustain a hip injury and have an excuse - a reason to not go back. I am gifted, I acknowledge this. Is it my love of being so extremely talented that keeps me going, rather than the sport itself? Because of my potential, I keep returning. I keep coming back. It is eating me alive.
And I am devoured.
It is out of my hands. I have come back, and here I remain. And will remain, on the ice, despite what further emotional implications it might create. It will create. It is creating right now.
Because I can see that this isn’t working. I’m not really living. What I would give right now, for none of this to ever have happened.
I’m dying to breathe in these abundant skies.
Stolen of course. As always.
The little choices I used to make, the miniscule amounts of control I used to exert, such freedom now seems almost weightless.
Jamie
[This has been unlocked for the 2006 Rings Awards. It will return to friends only once the voting has been completed.]