moth balls

Do you ever feel like you just keep becoming more crazy by the day, and you can neither find the pause, nor stop, nor eject button?

That’s a pretty clear description of how I feel right now, and it may not say much at all, or it may give a clue that I am trying to traverse the bridge from cryptic fear to honest reality.

I am nothing that I recognize of myself. Maybe, in the end of it all, that matters little if nothing at all. I’m just trying to figure out how to feel comfortable in my own skin. And I know that requires so much more work than a blog post, but blog post is the bravest I can be right now.

I cannot figure out how to offer myself the same human acceptance and empathy that I would offer anyone else if they were wearing these shoes right now, and I don’t know what is blocking me from being that version of myself either. I just know that there is this space in which I exist that I cannot control; that I need to let go of trying to control; that I need to just trust. A space that requires nothing and just lets me breathe, or allows me to hold my breath in as long as I can because that actually offers more peace. Test my limits and then let me analyze them while I gasp for air.

Seeing these words written out makes me feel like I am on the higher end of the crazy spectrum. Seeing them written out also removes them from my head, and maybe that offloading will offer some stabilization of some sort , which lowers my placement of myself on my overall “crazy” rubrick.

I should be elated today. I should be so fucking grateful that it appears I’ll be able to avoid both chemo and radiation after my double mastectomy. And I am. And I’m also not. I don’t know what I am. I just have this mothball of depression stuck in my throat that I neither invited nor expected, and I just don’t understand it. I was celebrating victory until I wasn’t, and then I was just mad and scared and angry and bitter all over again.

So how do I get her back? Actually, I don’t need to get her back because she is me. She is the most honest form of me that has ever existed. And, if I’m being honest, she’s also the version of me I like the most; am most proud of; feel most comfortable in the suit of.

So it seems that what I am struggling with the most is figuring out how to remind her that she is capable of so much more than she ever had any idea of.

The only way out is through.

I knew that tattoo was going to serve me in exactly the ways it needed to. Actually I didn’t know shit. I just knew I needed it to guide me, so I got it inked. What we think we need isn’t always what we actually need. And then there are those times that our intuition drives us home while we are completely oblivious. In this case, I’m calling it both.

Different situations. Different pains.

Yet still, the only way out is through.

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