Where I’ve Become

Author’s Note: Sometimes I write posts I hesitate to share because they are personal in a way I don’t know how to expose or explain.  They don’t speak to a specific struggle or a need for change, help, or even understanding.  They are just a snapshot into a place that even I can’t articulate completely as it happens around me.  So, this is one of those moments that is vulnerable and honest, and the words seek nothing but a place to be uttered.  And as quickly as the moment comes it may pass, but those pinholes of transparency we give our imperfect moments of self-actualization, our times when we knowingly don’t have answers may be even more important than all the epiphanies that find us unaware.  

My emotional quotient has been on a binge and purge cycle lately and I’ve been unable to write it all down or even begin to make sense of it.  And fuck it, I don’t want to.  And it’s not trauma induced, or because something bad has happened to me… quite the opposite, I’ve been overcome with a multitude of things… many of them unspeakably beautiful.  But changes have happened regardless, changes that I’m slow to process.  So I cut the strings and detached from the analytics.  And it’s not raw, it’s not even uncomfortable, it’s just too much to discuss. 

And the stigma of my reaction, my core to extremity shutdown speaks to how I’ve become conditioned to seeing the world, the lowered expectations I’ve laid out for what is allowed to be a part of my existence.   The words come and disappear at my fingertips when I settle them onto the keyboard awkwardly.  Instead of creating words, I subdue them.  I smother them before they can find the surface.  Then, I wait for something to happen knowing it won’t, thankfully, so I can remain stalled out and numb.  And I am numb. 
Sometimes, at the most unexpected of times, a tear comes, like the last resilient bit of hope in me for something that can be moved out of emotional inertia trickling from the stone walls but, it is wiped easily away, and quickly forgotten.  And the pools of depth are now shallow puddles, and I’m not praying for rain.  I’m here, in the in-between, in the place where you stand beside your actual self and realize what’s become of you; not whobut where and where somehow doesn’t feel like here.  It’s somewhere else.  Somewhere I don’t want to figure out right now. 

And for once I like the stagnation and the belief that feeling nothing, even for a moment, might let the tender, torn, and swollen parts heal without my watchful eye, without my own voyeurism and commentary on their origins.  In all the affectation, I don’t want to examine the reasons why, I just want them to absorb into me and once settled just sort of start moving again. 

I guess it stands to reason that when your physical senses are overwhelmed the overload makes the ability to express that in words impossible, too close to touch, like being stuck between two walls closing inward so you don’t go forward or backwards, even sideways… you just stay where you are, going limp, submitting to the in between and surrendering to the saturation.  For once not railing, fighting, pushing, or pulling… not even the gentile acceptance; rather finding the opposite of action.  Complete inertia. 

Ask nothing.  Answer nothing.  Just abide in the where I’ve become.  And it’s where I will be until I’m not anymore.  

7 Comments Add yours

  1. Anonymous says:

    I saw this on facebook the other day and it seems appropriate to share with you.

    I recommend reading the article below. And chin up change is never easy but necessary none the less.



  2. Anonymous says:

    i get it


  3. Amelia says:

    Sometimes a state of uneasy stasis is the only place you can be. Finding peace within that is the hard part.


  4. Johnny Waite says:

    Wonderful. Sometimes when I read people's writing, yours included, I am impressed with how effortless and smooth it seems. In this instance I am far more impressed with how very much it is the opposite of that. There is tremendous beauty in how hard you clearly had to work to capture and describe “where” you are at. And even more beauty in the inherent ambiguity. Thank you for putting that out there.


  5. Linda Hughes says:

    Well put, beautiful and thanks for sharing!


  6. BHJ says:

    Good stuff. And thanks for the email. It matters to matter when you feel like you don't. You helped me matter today. ~bhj


  7. Maria says:

    There is a season for tears, a season for joy.


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