I just need to check in.
The storm has settled. And the layers are being stripped back. Sensitive to everything, but not broken by it. Being vulnerable and bare and open. Open to receive… open to be torn open… open to share.
This rawness has never been so tolerable. I’m held, protected, powerful. But raw. Stripping back what no longer serves me. Making space for the blessings I am worth of receiving.
No matter how many times I complete this process, it’s scary as hell, and painful. Saying farewell to all the tricks and lies that were “keeping me safe”, to welcome more power than I thought I possessed.
In the freefall before the universe catches you, after you’ve taken that leap out of your psychological prison of victimhood… When you ARE a victim, it’s so hard not to PLAY the victim. When you lose control of your life, it’s hard to take it back. Tumbling, I’ll keep making decisions that feel inertial, that keep me falling, that strip away layer after layer.
Because I love it. Because I yearn for growth, and because I have to. Because my babe and my love are deserving of the greatest version of me.
Stay tuned for chez v6.8
I do all the steps, I answer all the questions, I complete all the tasks. It brings all the things to my awareness and then I just sit there looking at a proverbial, overwhelming pile of notes of my desk… that I would look at, blink at, then walk away from in favour of a coffee break. But I don’t get a coffee break from life, from my turbulent mental health. So I’m stuck. I don’t want solutions. I want a guide.
I falter every time I attempt to release. I stall every time I start to feel. It all starts the same, causes the same uncertainty and I never get to the point. I’m on a treadmill, I’m a simulation… on a loop.
I feel so boxed up all week that I collapse every weekend, but can’t seem to find the space to unravel myself, and sort out all the tangles. I try. I try every single week. But all I get is panic attacks, self-loathing, isolating tears, and a whole lot of words to hurt my love for the sake of healing myself.
Underneath all that is why I’m so heavy, feel so dull, and have put all the walls up. It’s all pretty simple. I just can’t reach it. It frustrates me that life itself overwhelms me. I feel that I’m a total failure, since how complex is my life anyway? Surely I can do better at it than this?
I WANT to grow, release, glow up… but my inner critic delights in reminding me that the only good thing I’ve done in my life, in the eyes of the mother that I only want acceptance from, is my half-god offspring. And Lo, I start to crave codependence. A new sickness that I can fuel the flames of, and really dig into.
How can I feel so empty when I’m so full of all these thoughts and feelings and behaviours that no longer serve me. How do I feel so unstable in a house that makes me feel trapped, a suburb that makes me feel encroached upon, and a town that breeds anxiety in me. How on earth am I always so nauseous. These physiological symptoms are just feeding my mental state. Feeding the darkness. Perpetuating the cycle.
I know I can’t start the next chapter until I let go of the last one. But despite being so loved, and so supported, I simply don’t feel that I’ll have anyone to catch me when I fall. Not because they won’t be there, but because they can’t. Because I’m too heavy. Too challenging. Too much.