wish we had booze.
My brain suffocates me. There are 36 thousand things going on inside, and there is hardly room for oxygen. Blah!
There is money. Always, always money worry. It seems so petty in my vision of all other things. Though, it is more than dollar signs and debt. It is about the feelings of inadequacy--the dream that I will someday be free from this worry, and the reality that dreams are just dreams. Everything in this world comes with a price tag. I fantasize that there will come a time when I will be able to look at the tiny balance in my bank account and go on my merry way, because everything will matter so much more. I am an idealist this way. Still, I wont let go of this fantasy. Why should I? I refuse to believe in anything less.
There is school worry. I am taking the steps, trying with everything that I have to trust that the answers will reveal themselves when they are ready for me, and I for them. S.W.Harrison asks, "When do we know we have found our true North?" When? Where? My heart tugs me in a certain direction. I am supposed to help people. I am. I feel it thick in my bone marrow, beneath my skin. It pulsates in my veins and wells up into my eyes. I just know. But how, why? Where? Here, now? What does any of this even mean? My soul is filled with passion for people. And the little things seem to get in the way. Am I intelligent enough for this? What University will I transfer to? Does it matter? Should it?
There is family worry. Mom worry. Worry for my car. Worry for time. Body worry. Mirror worry. Dog worry. Scar worry. Friend worry. Worry worry worry.
And there is someone new. He is kind, and warm, and just as lost as I am. Annnnd so it begins. I wonder why the hell we are attracted to anyone anyway. I seem to fall for people who need me. People who acknowledge my longing to care and comfort and understand. "These wounds are self-inflicted." But why? Why must I be needed to feel right? What am I trying to give myself? What is my soul lacking and why the fuck am I looking outward and not in? Why do I long to give this to anyone but myself? Still, he is so kind and gentle. And somewhere deep inside he has the capacity to love. I see it in his hands. They are nice hands, I trust them. But he is still human, and we are flawed. He will hurt me. He'll leave. And I can't seem to let the love in. I want to be brave and love in spite of whatever loss comes. But do I have this in me? The energy to be vulnerable? Again? The time and the nurturing that relationships take? Do I have the guts for this? Is it time to let go? How do we know? I know--the deep kind of "know"--that most things are worth it in the end. But sometimes all the knowing in the world cannot coax the heart into battle. It cannot stop our sewing-shut. This cowardice, the running--it is not me. Am I broken?
I am reminded of Melanie and her bravery. I often feel justified for my retreat, my urge to cut my losses and bail before everything is gone. Melanie would understand. And then she would tell me to breathe and let go. She would remind me that we are meant to feel it all, the butterfly flutter in our stomachs, the soft, slow opening of the chest and the real, insatiable passion. But also, the loss & the deep, deep ache at the end. Because it ends, it all does. Jess would tell me that the end matters least in love, that the means will always justify what is left. We need it to live. Sabrina would look me in the eyes and tell me to smile, that I am worth this and that I deserve the happiness. Melissa would remind me of where I come from, that I am born from the greatest love there is. Mama would tell me all about how much there is to learn, how much good there is waiting for me. All of these things are true and right. But what do I say? How do I begin?
Will these question marks ever transform into something more sturdy, somewhere I can find a balance, a peaceful place to lay this head of mine? I hope.
WE WERE MADE TO BE LOVERS, BOLD IN BROKEN PLACES. POURING OURSELVES OUT AGAIN AND AGAIN UNTIL WE ARE CALLED HOME.