Part II was supposed to be about me overcoming. About me loving myself and all the ways that has made a difference in my life. The truth is, I haven’t wanted to write for the past three days. That’s probably the first time in about six years where the thought of writing down how I felt literally turned my stomach. I write everyday though, so I have about seven or eight unfinished drafts. They’re shit. Dishonest and superficial. Good enough but not nearly as “me” as they could be. My heart was not on those pages.
I wrote probably one of the most difficult things I’ve ever written sunday night. I wrote and I cried. Not just a soft sob, but one of those cries that takes your breath away and has you sitting in a pile of tissues by the time its over. I feel like I cried for three days. And even though I am at peace having written my way through to the truth, it does not change the fact of the matter that I am incredibly sad and have no clue what happens next in my life.
I should say, I completely recognize that none of us ever really know what is happening next in your lives, all we can do is speculate. However, we make plans. It never stops us from making plans and trying for something. Within the last three months The things I’ve been trying for for 3, 5, 16 years have all dissipated. I have not even an inkling of what tomorrow will bring let alone July or December or next December. I would like to say that I am open to the possibilities but the truth is, I am terrified. If we’re being honest here, and we always are…the idea of not having a picture in my mind, of having a plan or a model or an outline of what may come is overwhelmingly scary for me. When I say out loud that the things I used to want already seem distant its a testament to how I was holding them simply for the sake of knowing.
Nothing I say feels right. It feels too forced too trite too cliche. All I really want to say is how palpably sad I am. What I guess I never realized is how, even when you make a decision you know is right for you, you can still be so incredibly sad about it. And writing just makes me sadder. It feels like the only colors I have to paint with a grays and black. I know everyday won’t be difficult. But the last three have been. I just keep telling myself, tomorrow will be better.