Punch-drunk

 Sometimes it's all we can do to sit and listen.

Sometimes you just have to let the words come in those precious few moments of silence. Let the words and worlds build themselves up in your headspace. Sometimes you just have to let the words float in that liminal space between reality and your desire. You have to let the words linger and blur your consciousness. Let the words develop in that safe space, nurtured by the silence, protected in the womb of your emotions. Let the words grow, let them one day exhale their blessings onto your reality.

For now, just feel. Listen, and feel, and let them grow.

Nice

 I'm fortunate to have a good therapist.

I'm lucky to have survived long enough to come into this age of mental health care being the norm. Where no one can or will ever tell me again that I am imitating my "shrink". I am thankful for her presence in my life and what it has meant these past few years.

She knows the whole story. She knows more than most of the people who currently think they know me best. She knows about the one that got left behind. "I used to test as an INFP until my early twenties, then I changed. I became cold and cynical to protect myself and have tested INTP ever since."

"Do you wish you could get her back?" she'd ask in earnest. "The one who got left back then, the idealist, the soft you?"

And I'd respond in earnest, "No, I don't think I could even if I wanted to."

She'd want to know why.

"Because she didn't make it to adulthood," I said, "this person did."

I couldn't fathom the thought of the wide-eyed, trusting, idealistic, nurturing, bell-laugh me, attempting to navigate a world where everyone wants to carve a piece of her for their purposes. I thought she would surely die or go irredeemably crazy. She'd be all alone against the world, waiting for the ax to drop...

Now, though, it's a different story. I realize I needed to heal from a place of love, and part of that love is accepting myself with all my kinks and quirks and messy bits. 

I did a psych test on tiktok where they asked you to describe your favorite color, and that ended up being your view of your personality at this time. I said blue... is above as it is below, it is balance, it is all-encompassing, it is soft and strong at the same time, and it's everywhere you look.

Chrysalis

 I've been through a lot. I've been through so much I don't even remeber a lot of it. Some of it got locked away, I'm sure on purpose. Some of it was obliterated by my brain in a loving gesture. "You can't deal with this... I will make sure you never have to".

Some of it comes back in little morsels when my mind seems to believe I'm ready to face it again. The little memory gets held up to the light; small and precious and trembling in fear of rejection. And it fits perfectly into the broken puzzle of my tortured past. But the more I put together of my past self, the more grace I am finally able to extend to her.

She wasn't all victim, she wasn't all villain. She was someone trying to make due with the hand life dealt her, same as the rest of us. She was young and malleable and fell into too many ideas, too many traps for her intention, so many that her essence was dilluted in so many different solvents, and there was little to nothing of her true self left.

She then thought her salvation lay in order, in discipline, in being stringent and strict with herself. But the process of fitting into this new mold was far too abrasive for the softness in her, so she became calloused and petty. Bitter and cold on the surface, so no one could pierce through her again. 

I think in this tragedy, that was the one part that saved me. I am now starting to realize I am still here under all the charred layers of my previous iterations, of all the shields and exoskeletons I fitted over myself over the years. It's tough, and slow, and sometimes painful to remove all the rigid remains, but I am hopeful I still have enough of me to save underneath it all.

On the surface of the water

 I'm floating.

There is a time and a place for every feeling, for every experience. I have to believe. I have to hold on because there is only so much time, except for when time chooses to bend and stand still. 

And then I float.

I float on the surface of time. I am not alone but I feel unified. There is no light above, just clarity, just endless luminous space. I lay there and just allow myself to be and feel. It's almost like the universe is expending me the bit of assurance that maybe, just maybe, after everything is said and done, I can hope. I can still hope.

Giving the devil a say...

 I mean... what was I expectig, honestly?

You give the devil a say in where your life is going and he tells you loud and clear: you're done. You're washed out. You're no longer attractive, you're too weird, you're too offbeat. No one will ever look your way again without ulterior motives. You are no longer to be defined by your self but by your offerings. You'll never be seen, never understood. Stay in the dark where you're not to be acknowledged, where you belong. Stay in the dark where you will suffer alone, where no one will care. This is how it's meant to be. Go through the inclement changes of your aging body in utter solitude, in utter darkness. Grow old and wither in the deep void.

And yes, maybe I am in the darkness. And this might just be where I belong. But there is more to this place than even the devil knows...