Tuesday, March 27, 2012
I am not used to listening to my feelings. I distract myself from them if they are uncomfortable and retreat to familiar haunts and past times in order to make them subside or at least retreat for a while. I think I am upset. I am sad and bothered. Things have not been right with my world for a very long time, longer than I can remember. The high points of glory and joy come to me often but my memory is a fickle master and tends to edit and redact the events and emotions that I do not care for. Each day is an exercise in avoiding the pain, and if it is not avoidable, I medicate with all the many things in my life to sooth and help. I have become the Artful Dodger of my soul and self. Somewhere along the way, I started looking at my shadow stretched out ahead of me and convinced myself that it was me.
So many stories, altogether too many places, a vast string of faces. What have I become? Who am I now? I used to have simple answers to these questions. Time seems to be speeding up and I have yet to find all of myself. Each time I seem to grasp a piece of it, I start seeking another, and in that seeking lose the one that I had grasped. Empty hands, always empty heart. What am I looking for? Why am I always seeking and wandering?
It may be time to start thinking and examining some of the parts of my life that I never share. To take the moments and effort to look into those little black boxes that I have packed so neatly away in the deep, darker recesses of my mind. I am aware of what has happened. I know the choices that I have made. I firmly accept that many of them were made for me. Somehow, someway I need or want to reach back and tell that boy that everything is going to be alright, but I feel that would be a lie. Everything is NOT all right. Things are NOT getting better. If they were, where is my peace?
I don't let these thoughts out much. I cannot afford to. The picture and presentation that I have built of myself has become my insulation and emotional armor, but if I do not start sharing and talking, will I ever? I cannot imagine carrying all of these things in my heart to pass with me when I die, though I have sworn to do so. I cannot fathom that long green mile alone. What will become of me when I let others truly see me? I am so very scared most of the time. I never stay in one place long, as my childish nature and lack or maturity becomes all the more apparent the longer of a space that people have to observe and interact with me. I can only take people in small doses. I am rather solitary though others find me social.
I have to get this stuff out. It hurts too much, but somewhere along the way, I forgot how to answer the question, "Where does it hurt?" I think a better question may be, "Where does it not hurt?"
So I am fessing up. I am not well. I am not happy. I am not at peace. I am not okay. I cannot pull off this charade any longer. The mask no longer fits well. I do not like looking out into the dark from my hiding place. I am sick of tricking myself into smiling and ignoring the bad. I will not let my past continue to haunt me. I choose to not let others opinions about me chain me into silence. I have to break free. I will not let my inner self convince me to do so is selfish. It is time to talk.