“It’s not easy to die
No matter how done you are you eventually rise” – JJ
How so very, bitterly true. There are so many days as a mother, as an anorexia survivor/sufferer/awareness activist … As a tiny being … that I get to the end of the day, and I’m so done. I actually don’t know how my bones are not splintering. It feels as though they are. I don’t know how I made it to bed; The place feels so alien. I don’t know how I kept them alive. Keeping myself alive feels like the knifes edge.
Its not easy to die. No.
Not when the people you love, you love so completely. You see their lives spanning before you – my children, my parents, my family, my lovers and my friends – I see them all and my skin itches, it craves … I feel the need to keep them whole. Steal away their darkness. Help them to shine. The compelling lilt on the tongue of surrender must be ignored. It must be tamed. I must be alive.
No matter how done you are, you eventually rise. Yes.
No matter how done I am. I rise. I rise for the love. There is nothing, nothing else.
So often in my life I’ve had this urgent, screeching, potent voice that glides over my shoulder blades – back and forth – “YOUR BACK IS BREAKING. THROW IT ALL IN.” It’s the moment where I panic. I’m anxious and so fucking afraid. I feel like this circus trained elephant, riding a unicycle and juggling expensive crockery – one second of lost attention, one breath out of place – and its over. A career. My finances. My small framed fame. Life. Is over. The pressure is overwhelming, all consuming.
It makes me want to quit …. Everything. I’m all or nothing. If I quit one thing, they all must go. I might as well quit good and proper. Go out with a bang.
I guess …. That perfectionism; that determination to be all or nothing – see’s me fighting on, cups smashing at my feet, shards digging into the small of my back, as I stumble through the peaceful lands of what I seek. I wake everyone up – I’m not soothing or vital like I’ve always so wished I could be. But I’m still there. The circus opens for another day – and god knows I cant give it up.
It takes. Takes and takes and takes and takes. But the more that is taken from me – the more sure I am, that it is not what you are given in this life, but what you give, that keeps us truly alive.
We may all be masterpieces. we may all be pieces that contribute to some ultimate reality … But the feeling that I am the missing part is real. The feeling that I was never quite finished on the production line. I fell off at some point, and now life’s chaos is sure to take me. I was never whole from the start, and now i stumble around with fresh wounds hoping to find refuge.
I do feel broken you know.
I do sometimes feel ashamed to be present.
I do wish it was not so.
Letting go is vital. And it’s a survival tool. But letting go, like everything else there is, is temporary. Is not some final release that showers one in peace and equanimity. Its temporary, and is fucking hard work. Worthy work, but it’s never easy. And it always seems to mean letting go of some good with the bad. Forgoing a friend to let go of the enemy. Often they’re one in the same.
I’m not sure what stage this is or even what madness I am entertaining when i wonder …. How does knowing a truth ease the truth? How does recognizing a meaningless existence cool the sting of shame and the ache of hardship? How does knowing one is limitless free us from limitation?
I am broken, you know.
I do sometimes not want to be present.
But I can’t wish that it wasn’t so – that, that is what will take me.