I don’t think I’ve really ever written from this place - more often than not, I wait until it all passes and then, after I have more understanding, more clarity, I write about it.
But lately, I feel myself more focused on myself in these moments - when I’m lost in myself; in my emotions; in my thoughts.
And then there’s the thought that pops up - What’s the point of writing about it? Is it going to make me feel better? Is it going to change anything?
I guess moments like this I feel somewhat isolated, cast aside, as though I don’t even have much access to myself. I’m just lost in what feels like an obvious pattern - but it’s a little harsh and dehumanizing to label something that I experience; that I feel as just a ‘pattern’.
But that’s where my ‘hardness’ on my self comes in. I feel lost within myself and more often than that - I feel disappointed within myself. How am I here again? We need to move out of this and move forward.
I hate how cold Life feels to me in moments like this. I retreat and recoil away from everything - from myself; because I just can’t feel too much of it; because I just want it to go away.
I’ve been feeling so volatile … so, so, so volatile. Everything feels like it's at somewhat of a standstill and I’m just holding my breath - feeling like I am imploding from the inside.
The moments feel full of this quiet suspense and I feel so vulnerable to it, lost to it.
Lately, I just feel lost to this anxiousness; lost to this imploding stress. It’s so quietly in the air.
Lately, I feel so scared - that I am falling apart; breaking down within myself.
Lately - it all feels uncontrollable.
She said,
It’s been hard, it’s been really hard to catch hold of herself.
She said,
It’s hard, it’s too hard to come back to herself.
She said,
It hurts too much.
She said,
What is there to come back too?
She said,
How can I go back there?
Where I’ve been un-loved; un-seen; mis-understood; belittled.
She said,
How can I go back there?
Where I’ve been pitied; mis-labeled; needed but never wanted.
She said,
Don’t make me go back there … please, don’t make me go back there.
Don’t make me go back there, where I’ve always been left behind.
She said,
Don’t make me go back to the place where I escaped from to build my own Sanctuary of Warmth.
She said,
Let me stay here in this Sanctuary - with my God.
Let me stay here in this Sanctuary - amongst all the healings and alchemizations and clarities.
Let me stay here in this Sanctuary - where my body can rest, when my Spirit is low.
Let me stay here.
She said,
Without my Sanctuary,
They won’t let me rest.
Without my Sanctuary,
I am nothing to myself.
She said,
I cannot live without my sanctuary - take me out of it and leave me to myself and I am suddenly thrust into a quiet nightmare - where I am begging constantly to just be able to be; to exist.
And yet, isn’t it obvious how desperately she wanted to come back to herself.
She said,
I am all these things; all these beautiful things - but there is someone underneath it all. Someone who has felt like absolutely nothing in a World that is always screaming at Her to be something; to be something to them; to be something and everything to them. Be nothing to herself and everything to them.
She said,
Regardless, I am coming back to myself - I am pulling her out and putting her first.
She said,
I cannot take it anymore - that constant nudging feeling that I need to keep pushing myself to be something to a World that hasn’t a clue of what it actually wants and what it really needs.
She said,
It’s built up too much lately - how quietly her heart sees that she’s constantly trying to make space for herself in a world that is constantly squeezing her into its mold.
It’s built up too much lately - how quietly she feels like a constant burden; saying to the world just accommodate me for a bit longer as I try to make myself into a something. As though she’s come to terms with it - I’m okay with not being loved now; I’m okay with the coldness of it all; I’m okay with the constant ostracization of it all. I’m okay with it now because I’m nothing now.
It’s built up too much lately - how she’s desperately wanting an In on the Heart of Life but always finding herself on the outskirts; standing on the outside looking in; and anything that feels like something never stays for too long.
She said,
Lately, I’ve been so tired. I’ve been so, so, so tired of Life.
She feels it just weighing down on her bones and she’s been running in circles - going round and round and round and round. Making spirals in the same old circles.
She feels it just weighing down on her bones - how hated she feels; how disliked she feels; how scorned she feels. At least that’s a story that’s been playing in the quiet moments of her day - just all these old memories playing, quietly tormenting her. She feels it seeping into her now - and how sometimes, she can’t tell the difference between sincerity and scorn; between care and feigned interest. Because she’s living inside of her past - sometimes feeling it in ways that she’s never felt it before.
She hates it; doesn’t understand how part of Her feels that being Loved is so hard; so difficult.
She hates it; doesn’t understand how part of Her feels so easily fragile - that Love has become this thing that is so hard to catch a hold of. So easily fragile - that Love has barely showed up for her and left so often. Left so often - and leaves a hole inside of her heart every time. Leaves a hole inside of her heart - breaks her apart and breaks her down. As if her heart had only ever known Love that leaves and shatters you into pieces when it leaves. Shatters her into pieces when it leaves - and while her heart feels accustomed to the whole debacle - she still wants to reach out to it; hold on to it and just beg it to stay. Just beg it to stay for once and yet still hoping that Love would stay without being asked too. In her heart’s fragility - she is pleading, begging, for it to stay with her. For once, that It would hold to Her as She has wanted to hold to It. That’s the Story of Love that has lived inside of Her Heart for some time now.
She’s saying,
Quietly to HerSelf,
If we just forget it all for a moment,
Just for a moment,
I’m good, aren’t I?
I’m well, aren’t I?
My Heart is still good and well, isn’t it?
Is there some way that I no longer live these stories anymore?
Is there some way that these stories don’t carry on like quiet nightmares anymore?
Is there some way that Grace reach out and reach into me and show me a new way.
Experienced by - Chelsea Avasa Khan
