I’m sorry

I’m sorry. I’m a fucking fraud. The last posts … much hope. So much healing. But … too much hope. Too much desperation to put it on paper and make it true.

 

You stare at the ceiling and you want to go home.

 

“It” hurts. But what is “it” ? Is it just …life. The experience of being. Could being present hurt that much? Or … is it trying to Not Be … trying to kill something inside … is that what hurts?

 

When I try and locate the pain … it’s indescribable. It’s like an overwhelming depth and fear. Like swimming underwater with no surface break in sight. Trying to hold the breath long enough to find clarity, trying to answer the question while your lungs are burning and bursting and you’re edges are blurring. And then there’s numbness … that comes next. And it’s not better. It’s worse.

 

Because the loss of feeling doesn’t mean all the bad feels go away and all the good feels remain … numbness takes it all. All the tears leave with the smiles. All the past bliss dissipates with all the loss … and your empty. You haven’t even got enough left to get yourself to sleep. You lie awake.

 

You stare at the ceiling and you want to go home.

 

Back to that house in your childhood that was always warm and colourful that never did exist

The one you made up so you could smile.

The one you made up to justify your tears.

 

I’m fundamental, you see. I crave edges and limits and extremes and ends. But … my life has never delivered. I live in grey spaces …

 

… i live in the night …

 

Sleepless nights full of wanting and giving and emptying, emptying, emptying.

 

Fundamental. Fullness … no I’ve never wanted fullness. No full belly. No full house. No full mind. . and then … i cry for the emptiness. I shed tears because it’s all gone. And then i wonder why … i see it now. The words came out and I see it now.

 

I want what does not serve. I must learn to need what does serve and sustain the wanting, unemptied.

I’m so sorry. Always so sorry.

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