I write because I have no repair, my heart knows no other way. Nothing other can soothe this aches of my soul… Nothing other can express the deep longing causing this excruciating pain, which I can bear but must manifest through writing, through words.
This intoxicating, almost mesmerizing, captivating, pain… A sweet rhapsody of emotion.
Labor pains… My heart is a wound out of which never ending cosmic feeling flows…
Sensitivity, vulnerability, the birthplace of all my passions and desires; my aches…
I’m tired, I’m tired of having to be something bigger than myself.
For once I’d like to put my load down and just be, rest in my knowing that I am, full stop, no ifs or buts.
No one or nothing can ever make me whole other than me. It is a personal choice and responsibility to look at myself in the mirror and say “I see you, I see the tears in your eyes, I hear your silent cry”, that which everyday in every way you try to escape, yet it’s there and won’t go away. It just needs someone to listen, to acknowledge it is real and it is true.
What is death if not a rejection of life, of self, and this is the life I’m living. Withdrawing all life, the living breath out of myself.
I never thought pausing just to be with myself would be one of the hardest thing I’d ever have to do, welcoming myself and my experience into this world.
Giving up all efforts for “self-improvement” or “self-destruction”.
How can I improve on something that’s not there? I need to first accept and love what’s here. The life that I am given, as it is. This body I’ve got, it will never look like the “ideal” magazine’s portray. This mind I’ve got, it will never be Einstein or Nietzsche, this soul I’ve got it will never be pious enough. I am human and I am imperfect and that’s that.
I came into this world alone and I will go back on my own. Although it’s good to try to live my life to the fullest, to be the best version of me I can be, maybe I can start at the beginning, acknowledging and accepting my existence as I am.
My flawed body, my anxious mind, my fearful heart. Maybe I can begin by opening the doors of my heart to that lonely stranger that’s been there all along, longing, waiting, begging for acceptance, for some love.
And love I’ve got. I profess love to the world yet I can’t let love govern my inner world?
And what is love if not acceptance, kindness, compassion towards myself, towards my many faults. It’s taking the anger I feel towards myself for not being “good enough”, feeling it, acknowledging it and allowing for the calm and peace to come. War doesn’t have to go on forever, more violence towards myself is not necessary, only love can drive out the fear and cease hate. Aggression is not the answer. And that’s what I do when I try to force my body beyond pain and into shapes it doesn’t fit. That’s what I do when I call myself stupid, when I say “I should known better, I should’ve done better”. When I live with regret and fear, that’s what I do. When I’m not fully present in my body and in my life, that’s what I do, it’s war, it’s aggression.
The time has come, the seed is sprouting, the child has matured, the ground is now fertile and the foundations solid enough to spring up, to begin to flourish into who I am.
Into more than just a shadow, more than just a sad, flimsy version of all that I am.
I am now old enough, I have lived through enough, I now know things I didn’t know before. Although I might’ve been suffering, although I might’ve been in pain, I was still there present and listening through it all, learning, maybe the hard way. I was becoming stronger through my pain, the fire was shaping me, molding me into the warrior I now can be. I developed courage, resilience, acceptance, space in my heart for myself, for life as it is in all its glory. I don’t have to be the abandoned, fretful child forever; the time has come, I am now a warrior of love, of life and that is how I will life the rest of my life.
Honoring myself, honoring this precious life I’ve been given. Every feeling, every emotion, every twist and turn, every inch of skin and every hair in this body of mine. It might not be easy, it might not be my usual or learnt response but it’s the road I must take. I have come to a crossroads and there’s now only one way I can take. I have traveled down the beaten road, way too many times; it’s familiar, I know it’s ins and outs, it’s hills and bumps, and although it’s a road well traveled I must now venture into the unknown.
I am now equipped with everything I need, I am now brave-hearted, daring and courageous to life true to myself, whatever that might look like, whatever that might be. I have no other choice, I have already chosen the honorable life.