something to say

this year i was the tiniest, most fragile version of myself, as well as the tallest mountain i’ve ever been.

i am somewhere in the middle now. it is december.

i cry because the music creeps into my spinal cord and without conscious thought, my body is moving. swaying and choreographing my moments of movement - but i can’t stand up¹. the energy that finally resides in me cannot stay still. there are still dances to do! there are feelings to be set free! i cry because of the desire that has replaced the rot in my roots. nothing has ever felt so compelling. the physical limitation i have to face is the boulder in my road to where i was learning to be alive, engaged in and embracing existence. i was ready; i am ready.

it is surreal to cry and remember the heavy clutching at my dark clouded chest, but to simultaneously know that the reality of why i’m crying has shifted. crying from a new perspective. i cry and i feel so sad for myself when something is frustrating. i feel sad for the me that has to keep putting in the work to keep the dust settled where it is, to keep the peace from disturbances.

“she just wants to live now, look at that!” i speak of her. she deserves to live. 

hammers for nails, forest for the trees - whichever way i look at it, i am still huffing and i am still puffing. i just don’t stomp my feet about it. i’m making sense of the movement, the minutes i chase the tail of time, and the minutes i let it swallow me whole. i thought it was anger, but it was merely hope.

there’s something to be said about what it means to hold space for your sadness, in the way it doesn’t drown you, but rather, keeps you afloat. you’ve been in saltwater for years, but now, drink up. 

“drink it up,” i tell her. “the water is clear now, it’s safe to swallow. it’s safe to emerge from the sea, to come back to land. 

you’ve found your way back to you. 

welcome back.” 

---

porcupine with no needles, i am. delicate, and dangerously vulnerable to everything and everyone. this is not to suggest that i cannot protect myself, but i am more aware than ever of the world i am trying to exist in.

trying to exist again in a physical form that you no longer resent (perhaps still working through that bit in weekly therapy) is terrifying. to have a desire to engage in being alive is to have developed something greater than i’ve ever feared - greater, richer, and deeper than fear. imagine the crescendo of a momentous opus right now, before my next words begin.

have you felt this, too?

i have an earnest desperation to know, to own, and to embody my most authentic self. i am finding my solitude and solace in silence, but i am not empty of words. i am not empty in any sense, these days. i have so many words for you and for me, i have so many stories to tell and feelings to share.

i think they might find a place here.

1. this is hyperbolizing the state of my right foot, which i injured on 11/11, tearing 2 ligaments, bruising 7 bones and cracked 2 more. i can technically stand and walk while wearing this heavy boot but it’s quite exhausting for my unbalanced body.