Rambling thoughts on healing

The thought that we must save ourselves is the bitterest, most hurtful lie. We must be willing to work towards our own bright future this is true. But that we must do it alone, that we must depend on no one, that others must not act on our behalf, must not shoulder part of the burden, must not love. That is base falseness. It is a lie we embrace because our pain tells us it is true. And like all good lies, it has the ring of truth to one who’s hearing is distorted.

We believe it because we are wounded animals, bitten by those who came all false caring before. Who hurt and took and broke and wrought. So when another comes, and wears the face we think we know, we tell ourselves “not now. Not yet. I need to heal before I can try, I can’t let others close, I must heal on my own.” But is this prudence or fear? A little fear is wise, a bit of caution warranted. But hide away and wait as if some point will make you less broken.

I tell you a truth now. Perhaps it is merely my truth, perhaps it is more. The truth is, you will never fully heal on your own. You don’t see all of the places you are broken. You can’t know all of the pieces that are missing and you cannot build without materials that are not found within.
Someone must help. Don’t follow fears council for too long; don’t allow yourself the luxury of building walls. Do not trap yourself. Healing is ever so much harder than we think.

And alone? It’s a long, impossible road. One you may never see the end of. Nor beginning of a new one.

The unclenched fist

Think me tumultuous youth
Squandered on the fractious knowing
Light obscured by the slowly melting wind
Grain by grain
Moved on
Left in a cage of grief
Woke
Too old too young too knowing
Jagged and removed
Exposed
Jangle of nervousness
Anger and disappointment
What could have been
What choices led to this
Giving up
Tension runs out
Cut strings
Where to go
When there’s nothing left
And no reason to act
Forgotten
In the deep muffled echoes
Waiting for a word
Of warning

Love is door and lock and key

I have a theory that I have seen played out over and over again in my life and in the lives of others. Maybe it’s me seeing patterns where none exist.
Maybe it is a glimpse between the seams.

In every relationship which results in love, there is a test. A moment where everything goes wrong. Some health issue, some natural disaster, some conflict that places enormous stress. How that test is weathered tests the strength of the love.

Some it shatters and the relationship falls apart.

Some it breaks and though unknown the relationship begins to dissolve. It may be mended bit most often it dies under its own weight. Or is buoyed along by complacency and comfortable.

Some it draws closer together. It creates from pain and destruction something new and strong. As it should be, the strongest creation is born from destruction.

This will happen within the first six months. The soft strains of music will begin to play behind the scenes. Each note bending around until the snap and catastrophe. In the silence, the people involved either build their own symphony or off key plucking or yield.

Maybe life is full of such moments. Maybe I’m just attuned to this type and so I see it. Maybe I’m mad.

Just a thought. A possibility.

Sleep while waking

I’m tired. I find myself sleeping more and more. Because awake means aware and aware means thinking. My mind won’t stop grinding and grinding until the fine dust is choking. Until I can understand each piece and each conclusion or maybe just think I do. I want nothing more than to sweep you into my arms and hold you. And yet we can’t seem to find a way. Or a who. Or just a chance with the odds not tipped so badly against. I can’t be the only one who risks. I can’t break and break and shift and grow and still be here at the start. At some point, someone needs to catch me. It doesn’t work alone.