Day 27. Freewriting.
When it comes to me, I never hope. I just set a goal and refuse to stop until it’s accomplished. I fail forward. I fail often. Honestly, I believe the only true failure is giving up. Perhaps that’s why I struggle to let go. I think of it as a failure.
My tolerance level for fuckery is quite high. I haven’t been able to fully drain the fuckery tank in a while so it seems as if I [currently] lack patience or tolerance with most aspects of my life. Guilty as charged. Fair assessment.
Two things are on my mind. Feeling like a complete and utter failure and then feeling like a horrible person.
I know that I’m neither a failure or horrible person. I know this. I can write this. I can stay it to myself a million times. But I don’t believe it.
I hope that my heart can listen to my head. I hope that I maintain strength to block out the critics. I hope that I can stop finding the silver lining and just let.it.go. I hope that my heart comes around sooner than later. This chapter is difficult. I realize that some of my writing seems to be in code. Some of my writing is saying stuff but not sharing the entire picture. It’s intentional. For the most part.
RESET . .
I hope that you know you are loved.
I hope that you stop giving me credit for your anger.
I hope that you find happiness, not at the expense of another’s well being.
I hope that you find ways to calm your mind.
I hope that every wish that you make, comes true.
I hope you know that I love you.
I hope you know that I miss you.
I hope you know that my heart hurts. A lot.
I hope that you knew how much I care.
I hope that you knew how difficult this is for me.
I hope that you forgive me.
I hope that you let it go.
I hope that you can meet me half way…
So many things to say but none of the words are coming out… For someone that always has a ready-made answer, I’m stuck. Confiding in some people is difficult. You were right and girls and guys cannot be platonic friends. Even when I say that I’m off the dating scene, guys jump at the vulnerability. It makes me sick to my stomach. It also reinforces your opinion of me that I’m nothing but a piece of meat. That’s what stings the most. Opening up to others to have something thrown back in my face. Maybe I’m the one that needs to let go of this image that I have of myself. Maybe that’s why I continue to strive for goals that have a clear start / middle / end. I enjoy endings. There is always a great sense of accomplishment for endings. They are not sad, they are a notch on the belt. Endings are another skill to put on the resume or something to talk about over a hot meal.
I have a lot of resentment in my heart. I resent the fact that I keep giving chances. I resent the fact that I allowed anyone else to taint my image of myself. I resent the fact that I need [not want but need] external validation to offset the unfair criticisms. I am value added. I have an enormous heart. I forgive without hesitation. My mind works in a way that I’m constantly trying to be accommodating. People tell me all the time that they accomplished this or that because of my belief/support.
I dunno what I did that warranted this situation. I’ve spent nights agonizing over it. I’ve put myself in awkward situations. But I’ve also written hundreds of thousands of words. I’ve strengthened relationships because every time I want to cry, I write a letter of gratitude. I’ve been able to express love, pure love and identify the sexual deviants in about an hour. I’ve stopped questioning my gut. I’ve also learned that the harder I try to suppress tears, the more that want to slip out (not all tears are sad). Tears are a sign of strength. For every person that says my expectations are too high, I think of them when I cannot get the tears to stop. Tears are beautiful and they are a sign that my love runs deep.
I hope that I continue to find ways to love myself. The next month of letters of gratitude should be directed to me. My emotions. My feelings. My softness. My strength. My ability to be 100% authentic.
I’m not a basketcase. I’m mending a broken heart.
I’m not sad. I’m not depressed. I’m not broken. I’m not perfect. But I am perfect.
I’ve cried more in the month of November than I have all year and July can kiss my bunghole. July sucked monkeyballs. That re-wiring took longer than expected but I found my peace. I found two huge reasons to be thankful. I strengthened a few relationships. I got comfortable with being vulnerable. But that rewiring process… a double dose of narcissistic abuse. I didn’t know up from down. Left from right. I didn’t know if it was me or him. The voices of the minority were deafening. My biggest lesson was that everyone expects me to be strong. Strong is the only lane I’m usually in. I didn’t even realize how many people thought that I’m incapable of having anything less than a silver platter in front of me. Granted, it would be fully believable to be swept off my feet by a Prince and live in a castle (that was actually an option in 2016) but the things I chase, money cannot buy. I want home. I want someone to compliment my nostrils flaring. I want someone to crack a joke when I want to cry. I want someone to know when to be quiet and just let me be. I want someone to know when to book a flight and never question me when I go off grid. I want someone to look at me like I’m magical. I want someone that reminds me of the beauty that is in my soul when I’ve lost my way (not often but still SUPER important). I want someone to be my pitbull (I can fight my own battles but it’d be nice to play the gender roles every now and again and have a caveman type protect my honor). Old soul. These things can be found in a castle in the mountains just as easily as in a grass hut on the beach. I don’t judge people by possessions, I judge them by their kindness. Their heart. I judge the things that cannot be counted by numbers…
I hope to never settle.
But first, I hope that you know how much you are loved.
#WhyIWrite #MentalWellness #SelfImprovement #Love #JourneyToPeace