Running from.... everything I've been running from
I suppose I've needed this for a while. This isn't a typical entry.... there's no story told here. this is a ramble to sort things out for myself. It likely won't make sense to anyone but me. Read it if you wish.
The whole time I've been telling myself that I need to run.... but in fact, am I running already? Is my perpetual avoidance of everything through the insane schedule that I subject myself to.... merely a coping mechanism? Am I trying to run away from .... what? I'm not sure.
I don't get it. I could have invented all of this in order to give myself a way out. What if he is faithful? what if there is no "she"? what if he's been loyal to me all along, and I am just so consumed with self-hatred that I can't imagine someone choosing to remain with me? What if I have secluded myself to such an extent that I can't imagine someone following me into my self-induced abyss?
or worse: What if he IS? what if I'm allowing him to make me feel like it IS me? what if I am the fool, and I'm blind to what's going on? Either way, I'm blind to the truth. Completely paralyzed.
running from shadows, finding solace in illusions, holding everyone else up by their imagination and the belief in dumbo's feather.
I hated the "plastic house" syndrome that my mother suffered from, and taught me. Playing barbies with real people. She taught me well.
except I don't do anything the way I should. the laundry is still dirty, Haley isn't at school on time, my room is a pigsty, there's fruitflies in the kitchen, I skip my classes...... but Deric and Sam are a drain, and I am expected to pick up the peices. Why? because I'm me. I always do, I always have.
I don't want to pick him up tomorrow. I want him to stay on that mountain with his hunting/guiding friends and the horses. I want to be ALONE. Alone with my children and my own money and my own life. My own bills and my own mess, and my own thoughts. I want to forget. I want to live in a world that I define. perhaps I would find strength there. It's hard to press onward when you know that all the steps you've taken will be undone by someone, or that you're erasing your tracks with the 700 lbs of weight you're dragging in your wake. It's difficult to derive inspiriation from where you've been when you can't see the path..... where your footsteps should be, there is nothing other than the sickeningly undefined disruptions in the dirt caused by the huge heavy bag you're carrying behind you.
Can I put the bag down, have it roll back down the hill, and be sure that it won't follow me? can I sit in the shade and tend to my wounds and rest my aching back? Can I wait until the blisters heal before I move on?
in chaos I thrive..... I tell myself, anyway. I've realized that I have no comparison.
The whole time I've been telling myself that I need to run.... but in fact, am I running already? Is my perpetual avoidance of everything through the insane schedule that I subject myself to.... merely a coping mechanism? Am I trying to run away from .... what? I'm not sure.
I don't get it. I could have invented all of this in order to give myself a way out. What if he is faithful? what if there is no "she"? what if he's been loyal to me all along, and I am just so consumed with self-hatred that I can't imagine someone choosing to remain with me? What if I have secluded myself to such an extent that I can't imagine someone following me into my self-induced abyss?
or worse: What if he IS? what if I'm allowing him to make me feel like it IS me? what if I am the fool, and I'm blind to what's going on? Either way, I'm blind to the truth. Completely paralyzed.
running from shadows, finding solace in illusions, holding everyone else up by their imagination and the belief in dumbo's feather.
I hated the "plastic house" syndrome that my mother suffered from, and taught me. Playing barbies with real people. She taught me well.
except I don't do anything the way I should. the laundry is still dirty, Haley isn't at school on time, my room is a pigsty, there's fruitflies in the kitchen, I skip my classes...... but Deric and Sam are a drain, and I am expected to pick up the peices. Why? because I'm me. I always do, I always have.
I don't want to pick him up tomorrow. I want him to stay on that mountain with his hunting/guiding friends and the horses. I want to be ALONE. Alone with my children and my own money and my own life. My own bills and my own mess, and my own thoughts. I want to forget. I want to live in a world that I define. perhaps I would find strength there. It's hard to press onward when you know that all the steps you've taken will be undone by someone, or that you're erasing your tracks with the 700 lbs of weight you're dragging in your wake. It's difficult to derive inspiriation from where you've been when you can't see the path..... where your footsteps should be, there is nothing other than the sickeningly undefined disruptions in the dirt caused by the huge heavy bag you're carrying behind you.
Can I put the bag down, have it roll back down the hill, and be sure that it won't follow me? can I sit in the shade and tend to my wounds and rest my aching back? Can I wait until the blisters heal before I move on?
in chaos I thrive..... I tell myself, anyway. I've realized that I have no comparison.