Was It?
“. . . never / trade honesty / for relatability.” - Rupi Kaur
(I just finished her first book and moving on to her second.)
My foul mood lasted a little longer than it usually does, and I realized it was because I was mostly mad at myself. I wanted to be or seem like a better, stronger person; I wanted to erase my past, my weaknesses. I couldn’t, and I became very frustrated. I shut completely the fuck down.
I’ve growing limitations, and although I wanna give more than I take and remain kind in cruel situations, sometimes, it’s not possible. I gotta be cool with that.
I can’t be a doormat, because that's not good for anyone. I easily lose myself, and it’s such a fucking shame, because I’ve got a lot to give. I just need to be more aware that I’m not always gonna come through as the person I wanna be.
That’s an overwhelming task for me, but maybe I don’t have to have it all figured out right at this moment. I’m figuring things out, as I go.
The issue is not how I’m treating others but, rather, how I treat myself.
I treat others like kings & queens, when I’m a fucking monster to myself. I need to learn how to be patient, and to grow, I must allow room for that growth. Otherwise, I’m just putting on a show, and I’m not allowing myself to move with life, whether it’s progressing forward or is in a decline. I cannot be afraid.
I may feel paralyzed with fear, but life will not allow me a break from whatever direction it chooses. Life and I must move together. We don’t have to agree on where I should be, but that isn’t entirely up to me, is it?
Every time I think I’ve come to terms with the degenerative nature of my disease, I cling hard to what I have and mourn deeply for what I’ve lost, and maybe I’ll return to this state occasionally for as long as I live.
I feel better now, though, and will get better next time, too. My life isn’t completely out of my hands, anyway. I can still choose if I wanna be nice to motherfuckers or not, and I can tell them when I’ve had enough.
