Sure I’m mad – but behind the anger, beyond the frustration, underneath the hate, there’s only sadness. The other layers aren’t even real. I made them up to cover it up. Boredom is rage spread thin, and sadness is grief the same way. There’s just so much love inside me, and it’s got nowhere to go from here. I’ve got nothing to do with it. I spend my days watching it die.
I press Replay like a maniac. It tricks my brains into thinking we’re working on it. In the background there’s always me screaming ‘can you still love me, despite of this’ where this is me, followed by a pause. I wait to hear yes like a blessing, like permission to rest, like forgiveness for being the way I am. But the answer remains radio silence. It sounds like no even when it doesn’t sound like anything at all, and it’s making me bitter and mean and impatient.
Deep down, I know there is no fix. So when does this pass? When can I go back to feeling myself minus the need to apologise for it? Can my love at least stop dying, before I get the chance to redirect it as still love? Because it keeps on dying on me, and all I see around me is dead love, and all I feel inside me is need to bring it back to life.
Where do I go when I need my heart held? Where do I go when I need a safe space? Where do I go when I need to be carried home? Most importantly, where is home this time? Can new homes be found somewhere other than where you’ve come from, or is that the only place that will let you return without trying to kill you? It’s so wild out here. I keep thinking that I’ve found my home, and then it morphs into some kind of hell.
Once again I find myself needing to return, having nowhere to return to, but only all the way back. I start walking and they clap for me, but I haven’t got a clue where I’m going. I want to stop and ask for directions, but I need that reassurance like food and water and shelter and love. So I thank them with a smile and keep going, for if I stop they stop with me, and then without me.
I don’t know what I’m running on, but I’m running – through the motions, spinning all the plates, disconnected and confused. I’d kill for the kind of gentle strength that allows me to be soft, but it’s nowhere in sight and it hasn’t been in so long that I fear it’s gone extinct since I last thought I saw it in someone.
Helping hands do not come when I start asking for them, I know. It means that I am in need, that I will bring trouble, that I am not fun and light, so helping hands go wash themselves clean of me. Ironically, when I don’t, they are all around, and I swear they always look the same. They always look like my next home.
I know the signs – when I lose interest in others, I lose interest in myself. When I don’t keep up with what goes on around me, I don’t keep up with what goes on inside me either. I’ve been here before. Brief pauses, moments of uncertainty, anxiety about the future. They’re all phases and they all pass, and soon enough I’m back in the game, catching up with everything I’ve missed out on. Only they’re driven by feelings – of inadequacy, of fear. This one isn’t driven by anything. From the outside, I’ve been here before. From the inside, I have not.
The good doesn’t feel good and the bad doesn’t feel bad. Nothing feels in any way, and I no longer want to have control over anything. The world can take care of itself. I don’t feel like looking after it anymore. If it wants me in it, it can open its own doors this time. And even then, I’m unsure I’d go through them. I’m unsure I’d go through anything right now. The doors and windows are shut and sealed. Nothing comes through; no more sadness, no new joy. I’m dangerously close to emotional burnout, and I haven’t got a clue how to stop it, or anyone to ask for one.
I read about emotional blockages and it may be a nice term to explain it. But knowledge is power up to a certain point; at this point, it’s just that. Knowledge. I can’t feel anything, and I am grateful to my mind and my body for stopping it all from feeling so heavy, but it has also stopped it from feeling light. I have never been numb before. I have been in all the ways, but never numb. I don’t like it, but I don’t care that I don’t like it either. It’s a paradox that I have never lived before, and I am not sure how to navigate it now. I just am, somehow, in the middle of it, and it’s all a bit surreal.
I’m not one to say ‘I don’t know’ often, and when I do I’m anything but comfortable. But this emotional rollercoaster has somehow left me emotionless now, where it’s all been a bit too much and my mind has shut down. Nothingness has always made me hugely uncomfortable. I fidgeted until I made things rise again, and again. But now I don’t know if the fear of the unknown has kicked in so hard that I can’t feel a thing, or I just don’t feel a thing because I’m tired of feeling afraid of the unknown.
I’ve always believed strongly in knocking at the doors I wanted to knock at. I made my mind up quickly and tried everything to hold on to what I wanted. Wandering aimlessly on the corridor not knowing where to go, waiting to see what door open for me has never been my thing. Right now, I’m not even wandering. And if doors, any doors open, I don’t care about being invited inside. I want to knock at nothing, and I want to go nowhere, and for the first time I am comfortable with this stillness.
Sitting in uncertainty has always been my very own version of hell. I have never been one to just go with the flow. I always had to know what the flow was, where it was going, and when it was going to get to where I wanted it to. Now I am not even going with the flow, the flow is going and I am letting it go. I’ve dissociated with it completely. It can do whatever a flow needs to do, I have no desire to do anything to change its course.
The fire was always burning inside me, even when it was reduced to a spark; there is no spark now. And it’s strange, this feeling, or rather, lack of. How it spills into everything and manifests everywhere and eats away at me and I let it. I wonder if it’ll go away someday. It might be the only thing I do care about, after all. It might be the only thing I want, even if just a little bit.
I love you. You are ok. Welcome back. Let’s be real here – you are too alive for this. Storm if you must, to find your calm. Don’t worry about them and what they might think. They don’t know this rigidity is a sign that there’s a wound underneath, and they don’t need to.
Big sighs and soft smiles, you’ll get through it like always, clawing back some sense of rationality and calm. I’ll be holding your hand every step of the way, learning to meet you with tenderness more often, because love needs to stop being a question mark in your life.
Change feels sticky and anxious. I know. Internal safety has nothing to do with external circumstances. I know. When you show up tense, hardened, walled up, it’s because you’ve had to switch on the masculine energy again to make up for the lack of it, and it’s the most exhausting thing in the world for someone who only ever wanted to be easy. I know.
But look at you, energetic and wild, burning and craving, how the hell did you think you’d stay that way? You may never sleep on yourself again when life feels small for a moment in time. Self-love is reverence for life, and life is the only thing that looks more like an exclamation mark to me. You’ve got this. You do. You’ve got everything.
In between all that there was so much good, I swear to you. So much good. I wish I’d recorded more of it, too. I’m going to try. I’m going to try so much harder. I love this messy life so hard, and if I’m ever bitter it’s only because I wish so badly that it loved me back the same, but sometimes it does, and when it does it’s worth all the chaos.
“I only believe in fire. Life. Fire. Being myself on fire I set others on fire. Never death. Fire and life.” – Anaïs Nin