it’s pretty quiet on here.
yesterday i began to weep in the shower in front of my boyfriend. naked and vulnerable. i wasn’t scared. it felt nice to be nuder than my skin could allow.
tears fell because of how much fear, resentment and judgement i hold inside… we all hold inside… while in some ways, it has gotten easier to be true to myself – in adulthood being sad is hard. almost like it’s not allowed. otherwise everything begins to crumble under you. but maybe everything has always had the need to break under my feet. i don’t think i have ever felt ground. earth.
i had a call with my father, as it was his birthday. what was originally intended as a pleasantry, resulted in a face-to-face with what i – we run from all the time. run run run. i was reminded of how nothing is as i thought it would be. how some ten years ago i was at a night out with the family i hated but now miss the security of. funny how with time, and traumatic sadness, you end up missing things that hurt you. because you forget. you sand off the hurt and keep a shiny souvenir of the idea, of the wish you held then and never let go of. i missed family. because i have none, but i never felt like i had it in the first place. i thought of how today there was no restaurant and there was no family; there was no getting ready and no unavoidable endeavors and mundane conversations to find predictability in. there were only dishes piled up that were mine and no one else’s.
i cried to my lover how nothing is as i saw it when i was ten. eight. five. how the world is freezing cold and enormous. how this control i had imagined, and had been so sure of harnessing as a so-called “adult” is non-existent. how nothing seems fun anymore – only the facade of it. how my whole life is these little pictures that are thin as air.
when i was a kid i could fall into music with my whole body. that is something i hadn’t felt in years until tonight. maybe it’s coming back to me now. maybe… maybe i always want to come back. as if all that i will ever have has been put behind me. eternally turning back, missing what’s in front and never feeling what’s beneath.
/pic from last month in St Petersburg