As I set here today, I take a breath and remember falls past. I want to be present for this moment. I listen for the chickens, the other birds, the airplane, the neighbor hammering. I start to listen to the truth my body is telling me. There are changes I need to make that I don't yet have the courage to do. I have stopped writing, in part, so that I wouldn't have to face this truth. And I know that it needs shaping. I don't feel I'm equipped to make it take shape. But it's what I need to do.
Another reason I've stopped writing is because there aren't words to approximate what's in my mind. It's harder for me to recall words, or really capture what I want to say. I can't define the specifics. The truth big writing is elusive too. Everything I write tends not fully be what I've felt or experienced I know that I need to sharpen my tools and practice.
I haven't written much in the last five years, maybe because I still am not sure of who I am after all the loss. I cringe when I write the sentence because it's too general, maudlin. But it is true. I feel that I have become someone grasping to what is safe and stable out of fear. I don't like that aspect, so I try to deny.
Which probably leads to the depression. I fight so hard to not listen to make everything okay. For so long Iife was about survival. Now that I'm better I want to avoid feeling this crap and bring sucked into the same tunnel of disparity before. What's scary is that I didn't know what it was, no one knew, and I had no way to know how to navigate through it. I felt I was in no condition to figure out how to navigate it.
My mind now is screaming, this is not the time to figure it out. But I don't have a choice. I'm tired of barely functioning. I'd rather face it all head on.
