Waking up today still longing for human connections. As I have lost most of it in the process of securing my own ego in the name of “self love”, I am aware I actually regret that I might have not reckoned all the consequences as I became “too busy” living in the moment.
While I try to fill all these gaps and holes I have endured my entire life, I might not realize that all I do is, instead, slowly drain my own source of contentment—the safety deposit I have kept to survive the darkest days—to emptiness.
Miscalculation was never an issue, I was used to nail it. My old self may lift her palms deep onto her face right now, she does not have to mind me.
Or, is 'all that' to be expected?
My current self would hope so. The answer is yet to be heard.
Of course, she is unheard, unseen, and misunderstood.
Or, is it just her failing to understand?
Maybe she is too petty to accept the cost of her desire.
Or, maybe she is just being too greedy and outgrowing her own comfort zone, yet she is not ready to relocate to this unfamiliar situation where she has never pictured herself thriving.
A zone so cozy she never equipped herself to live elsewhere.
Huh, so this is how it feels to really hitchhike without either maps or routes in your pocket. She knows where she wants to be, she can see the destination as clear as crystal but she freaks out along the way not knowing whether or not—and when, or how—she will arrive.
Becoming a person she used to despise, becoming a person she once could never picture becoming, becoming clueless while knowing exactly what she wants the most.
One day she will laugh at it all, well hopefully, because if she won’t, the picture of her crying and lamenting every decision would pain me, it would pain me to my bone that I refuse to form further mental images of that miserable scenario.
Poor girl. Duh.
She has been telling everyone that she would thrive the most being single, a singular being, not having a significant other by her side yada yada, yet look at her. Cannot even run away from a situation that has been stabbing her right on every spot where the scars reside.
Is it me or is she just addicted to pain?
Stupid little bitch. Thinking she deserves it AND can bear with it. Look at her. Look at her. No, you cannot, can you? The void around her is so gigantic you barely see her as she fades away, being sucked into it. Look at her, she lets it happen without any signs of struggle.
Shit.
It suffocates me. I suffocate myself. I am losing myself and I do not know how or where to find her.
God, where am I? Where did I leave it? Did it slip somewhere along the way? Am I going in the wrong direction?
How far am I from home? Shit, where is home? I am drowning myself, it suffocates me. I can see the void pulling me deeper and deeper into it and all I do is just staring at it, letting it happen.
As I am sucked into it, I wonder if it is a void, or that it is, after all, a door I have yet ready to enter.
Then as hard as it hits me, I notice—at this very second—that I might as well let it swallow me completely.
Because nobody is ever ready. Nobody is ever prepared.
All I need is to embrace it and do it all scared. Who knows what is waiting on the other side.
All I need to do is release myself. Give it up, give it all away.
On this fleeting moment where I can see my old self bargaining for me to stay, begging me to pretend that I will not be okay, I should just let her—and all the moments she has survived up to this point—washed up in the background
becoming an echo,
a noise,
a shadow that will fade as the light comes in.
So here I am, releasing her.
No comments:
Post a Comment