I just ran into these words I wrote a few months ago. It amazed me how different I feel. The misery from the past can give a new kind of bliss in the present. It’s good to remember, when in trouble, how we can pull through almost anything. Here’s my past reminding me how much happier I feel and how I actually moved on to find a place that is closer to Neverland. Now I have air to breathe, a home I cherish, music encouraging me to sing, the freedom I so deeply craved and words that are finding their place through my fingers and I am stunned by the beauty of the possibility. The book that never found its ending will find its way soon. I guess the pain is simply part of the process. And now I leave you with a somewhat dark day from my past…
I look at the time and it’s 6:58 and it obviously makes me think of the always admired redhead. Where does our spark go when we hate being who we are? Absolutely nowhere. That’s just it; we try to run from ourselves because what we fear most is not a place or a time…it’s ourselves. “Doubting if there’s a woman in there somewhere” she says. I’ve doubted that more than once. So indecisive, so lost, unloved by the opposite sex, unwanted by a home. 6:58 and I’m here, here, here. In a dark space where the black has seemed to outwit the light. I don’t like it here. My mistakes are eating my brain away.
And then the angel comes out to speak to the devil in me. The angel inspired by beautiful friends and a lovely mother. The angel that tries to find a ray of hope in the dark. It can seriously take minutes to flip the switch. I can cry and then instantly smile. Is this insanity? I don’t know. I’m seriously just relieved my fingers are typing words. I’ve been so low that I have done nothing that means anything. I’m not proud of me, I’m proud of my hands. Hard on myself as always. I’ve been cutting myself with food. It hurts deeply and I cannot seem to stop. Maybe it’s time for therapy. Coming back to the place I deeply feel is not for me for a third time seems to be more than I can handle. No music to play makes me feel as if I’m a deaf music fanatic. And then I put my issues into perspective and I know it’s no big deal…it sure feels like it though. The inadequacy chokes me; leaves me with no air.
I hope to come back soon. For better or worse, writing is a comforting friend. I simply don’t want to face the demons inside. I don’t want to think about the past, the future and sadly not even the present. But I do know I want to be someone my mom’s proud of and I’m not her at the moment. I have a book that’s halfway home and it seems to have lost its way…just like her author. But hopefully they’ll both create a new path where haunting ghosts from past mistakes and comparisons to others will cease to exist. I do hope; against all odds. And I am grateful for what’s real in my life; even the pain. I would just appreciate it if my thoughts and regrets would release me from this prison so that I can be free to live.