Sunday, 9 August 2015

Paws of the Southern Nature

It didn't begin then. The beginning may be unknown. It just began. But I couldn't find all of the words to say it. Sometimes I just feel too much. But if I am not feeling too much I am feeling numb. Like me emotions are in an ice castle void of the world. It feels like I live in the extremes. And if I have to choose I ultimately choose the mind altering ache of feeling everything. When I feel nothing I sit and remind myself of my emotional scars, the times I sat crying uncontrollably, so I can remember what it feels like to hurt. To feel. 

As we sat in the theatre watching a movie I thought would just be about the difference in a right foot forward stance, my preference, I found the tears streaming. I can't handle the agony of watching lives fall apart or famies being separated. I felt every moment. Too many subtle moments were reminders of my life. Watching so many children being ripped away. Waiting at the door for siblings to come home from visits they didn't want to attend. My chest aches and my throat was tight and the tears kept falling. I just wanted to see how he fought. I didn't want to cry.

I think this is my reality though. I can either close the door and refuse to feel or I will feel every single ache. My regulator seems broken. And part of me thinks that I need to feel the pain to feel alive. That if I try and tone it down or allow myself to love for longer periods in my bomb shelter from emotions that I will become and empty shell. I need the pain to be able to go on. To be me. I need the tears to recognize myself. 

It feels so dark and twisted. But I think the concoction that creates me required enough a self loathing, reliving emotional scarring and crying to create someone that seems so put together. And the more I think about it, there is a part of me that loves this angry broken cycle. It's like the aching comes with an aftertaste of feeling alive. 

1 comment:

  1. “To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”

    ― C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves