Tonight I catch my breath; the fatigue sets in.
The day welcomed me with a strong reminder that I had neglected to care for my vessel. The age old weariness surged into my form; permeated my mind.
I think it was days like this when I sought your comfort.
In my selfishness, in my knowing that things were not quite right, still I would sink into your arms and feel the warmth and comfort that the presence of another could provide. I took solace in your love, and felt a distorted sense of ease within your control.
But I’ve stepped away now, and must bear the burden of this grief alone.
I know in my heart that I’ve made the right choice. However, my greedy, empty self wishes to consume everything in my path. I want it all.
I want all the comforts you could offer and none of the pain.
And so I sit alone now, bearing the full weight of myself.
.
I spoke with a dear friend well into the night, ever so grateful for their company, and they said something that refuses to leave my mind.
“It’s all up to you now”
What terrifying words to hear.
And even more so in that I could feel their truth.
I have half a mind to run into your arms again, into the arms of my mother maybe. I have thoughts that I should attach myself firmly to whomever would allow, so that I may continue to run away.
But I know that would be an exercise in heartbreak, in futility.
.
By god, life is so much simpler when you are living for someone else.
(Even when it hurts.)
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It is all up to me now
It is only my back that carries my woes, that carries the responsibility of making something of myself.
It is my broken, defective self that needs to take a step forward. (However heavy that may feel).
And it is no one but myself who truly will suffer from my own lack of progress, initiative, and growth.
It is all up to me now.
(So tell me, how do I keep breathing? Keep going? Start learning? Start trying? How is it that everything feels ever too close and so disconnected at the same time?)
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At times I feel that I carry an adults responsibility and a child’s lack of experience, the muscles of independence atrophied in my stunted body.
And still yet that observation does nothing to enable me to try.
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Everything has just been so overwhelming.
My efforts in distracting myself through some sparkly representation of freedom have begun to peel away and show the damage and hurt inside.
The late nights and wild experiences cumulating together to form an amalgam of emotion that I cannot even begin to comprehend.
.
I crave safety and yet do not cultivate it.
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It is all up to me now.
(And though it must be, how I wish it wasn’t.)
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Extraordinarily Ordinary 