Sometimes it’s hard to write.
To spill the words out.
Sometimes it’s too painful.
Too complicated a feeling to unravel.
Sometimes it’s hard to write.
It’s hard to put into words,
the sudden news
which lead to
of hidden illnesses.
is in the hospital
after a fall.
They found some masses.
Like an Magic 8 Ball,
“outlook not so good”
And it all aches.
Because the world didn’t stop.
I tried to slow it down,
but the earth kept spinning round
and gravity kept holding me down.
Time shrugged and went on its way,
like “well, what else would you want me to say?”
It is almost March.
Regrets are piling up.
Where does the time go?
There’s nothing like a four day weekend to really knock you off your routine, and to completely destroy any desire to go to work the next day.
I’m trying to get back into my flow, (thanks being sick and two multi-day trips). I’m not prepared for tomorrow, like at all. But I think I’m going to do something fun and out of the norm since some of my classes are off because of testing.
I’ll probably post about it more later, but the conference I was at last week really helped me recenter myself in my work, and gave me a boost to keep trudging through. I might even have a bit of hope too. I’m facing a lot of obstacles but all I can expect from myself is to get one step, one day, closer to the truest and most beautiful version of teaching and education and life in general.
That’s all we can do. The best we can. And keep breathing.
I’ve been thinking about you a lot recently. Not that that’s abnormal to be honest, but it’s felt more…impressive. Like I dropped anchor on your memory, maybe it wasn’t on purpose, but it happened all the same. So I’m exploring the intricacies of our story. I’m gently grazing, in search of sense. Maybe I’m also seeking forgiveness. I’m not sure yet.
I still have questions for you. Some that are fair, some that are probably not. I’ve found that I can’t trust my memory as much now. Moments are hazy. I’ve forgotten most of the things you said to me. Now I just have all these poems. But they feel different now too.
It’s all in abstract now. It’s just a feeling. But it’s not just a feeling. It never has been. It is the aching. Like waves against the shore. Ebbing and flowing. I wish sometimes it would stop. Sometimes I cling to it.
I think what I’m trying to say is. I miss you. And I wish I didn’t.
I miss you and I know it’s not enough.
I’m back from my travel hiatus.
The only problem is that I feel like I need an extra hiatus to recover from the initial travel. Especially one that was so filled with other people and big events. I’m exhausted. I really don’t want to go to work tomorrow. But I will. because it’s easier. At least this week is short too (another trip later this week).
I don’t know what else to say. Maybe this week will be okay. Maybe it won’t. I’m just taking it day by day.
Well, if anything I’d like to thank my manic depression for giving me the energy to clean my place tonight. Is it a deep clean? Absolutely not. But it’s neater than it was yesterday. A win is a win.
I did laundry. I ran the dish washer. I swept!
I’ve been pretty hard on myself the past couple days. And while I knew the worst anxiety would pass, as it usually does, it always feels lie a small miracle when the tide shifts. I actually gave myself more grace than I’m used to. I let more go and just flowed. Hmm. It’s almost like I’m breaking cycles.
On another note, my sleep schedule is fuckkkked. My sleep apnea is the worst. My CPAP is not CPAPping very well. And I’m frustrated. But someone is going to call me tomorrow to talk about it so maybe the problem has a simple quick easy solution *fingers crossed*
I will die on the hill that everyone deserves the best sleep always. Because damn it really fucks things up when it’s even the slightest bit off. Seriously. I spent years not knowing what good sleep was, and now that I do, I just get pissed every time I can’t sleep.
I boiled over today. Just a bit. Simmering over the edge into my deepest insecurities. The hard part of not disappointing yourself, is obviously, that you must disappoint others. And for the longest time, that, I could not abide.
I hate disappointing others. It has been an anchor of my identity for over 30 years. Don’t worry, it’s also why I’m in therapy.
So today it all came bubbling up. I fell apart, and kept falling apart, and kept falling. I realized, there is still shame in my brokenness. It’s not so much as before, but it’s still there. Which is why it has always been hard to ask for help. I’m supposed to be the helper. The healer. The fixer. The soother. So much so, that no one knows how to soothe me.
Today was different. I let myself cry for a bit. And then I sought connection. I demanded it. I asked for what I needed. And he showed up. It wasn’t perfect. But he showed up, and that’s a quiet magic. A moment of hope in the darkness of my mind. A glimmer of potential. I was brave and unapologetic. And I’m proud of myself for not shutting off, for not shoving down my feelings to serve another.
My therapist is gonna be so fucking proud of me.
It still fucking sucks. And I remind myself, it’s not the end of the world.