Need You
Clearly, keeping up with writing is not my forte. Often times, I only find inspiration in the things that provoke anxiety and stem from a deep rooted pain. But today I find inspiration in myself and in the work that I have done throughout this last year.
"It is eerily terrifying that there is no sound when a heart breaks. Car accidents end with a bang, falling ends with a thud, even writing makes the scratching sound of pencil against paper. But the sound of a heart breaking is completely silent. Almost as though no one, not even the universe itself could create a sound for such devastation. Almost as though silence is the only way the universe could pay its respect to the sound of a heart falling apart." -Nikita Gill
I wrote a piece about my Medusa Medicine a couple weeks ago. The intention was to write about what I am willing to let go of that no longer serves me. At that time, I was so inspired by the words I etched into the paper that I didn't throw it in to the fire. I wanted to hold on to it for just a little longer. The universe had a different plan though. I shared it with a friend on the balcony where we used to share sweet words and sip on steaming coffee, enjoying one another's company. I guess I left it on the table and when I went to retrieve it the next day, the letter was gone.
I spoke of how my mother had always warned me to trust no one but myself. How I had opened my heart to you, love drunk until one day I woke up and realized that I was dancing drunk by myself. You, snake charmer, had seeped into my veins and my blood began to coagulate. Thick sludge wrapped around my heart to muffle the sound of it breaking. I wept and mourned for you, for us. And like the short piece mentioned above, there is literally NO sound that can equate to the earth shattering feeling of a heart falling apart.
What I admire most about myself has been my ability to recreate and refashion the shape of my heart. I mended it with the words of strong female support, decisions made on a whim, chemical manipulation from anti-depressants, finding relief at the bottom of a bottle, feeling my pain day in and day out, and ultimately, through forgiving myself. Sure, some of those coping skills were more harmful than hurtful, but I wouldn't dream of changing my journey.
For 3 months, I restricted myself to sleeping on "my half" of the bed. A bed that you had never shared with me, laying my head on pillows that didn't linger with your scent, and blankets that had never felt the heat of our bodies melting together. One morning, I woke up with my body sprawled out over the bed. It was the most free I had felt in those four walls of what was once upon a time, OUR sanctuary. The room finally felt like my own.
In this last month, I have started to quiet my mind and become more comfortable in all of my bodies: mental, emotional, physical, and spiritual. I have been at a crossroad of sorts. I crave the evolution of self and yet my recent distractions have been a monumental roadblock in getting to know myself better. The therapeutic relationship that I have had the honor of experiencing for the last two years is coming to its end. And I am so grateful for that journey. I got everything I wanted and all of the things I didn't know I needed. But where do I go now? With so many ideas and desires, my head is spinning and I'm quickly overwhelmed that I just don't start.
I'm scared of who I will become. I'm fearful of what may come rushing up and out of my soul. I'm nervous about failing at this commitment to my self. And... I'm willing to move through all of it. I'm willing to put in the work and get to know my authentic self. I'm willing to experience my pain and seize the light. The only thing that I do know, is that I don't know anything.
