CVII

There’s more than one way to convince yourself you’re not who you thought you were. And you’re not as good as you wanted to be. And you don’t deserve all the things you’ve been given. And you’re not enough to do the things you need to do.

I can think of many ways, in fact.

And I have tried them all. 

Yet I am still here. And my heart is still beating. And the blood still runs hot in my veins.

There’s more than one way to convince yourself that you are nothing. And yet I’m still here, and I am something, and even I cant think that thought away.

I can write words, and they can have meaning, and I can string these sentences together and tell you something more than meaning and more than words and more than what you expected. But where is the meaning in that? And where is the meaning in me. And why. I don’t know how to write between these questions swelling my mind to too-big-a-size. And its not loftiness, its not loneliness, its not letting-myself-go or locking-you-out. It just me. And they’re in my mind. And I can’t banish them if I try so why die trying. Answer the questions and maybe the words with their sense can enter in not just to the pages but to the recesses of my soul. Healing words healing the healer. Not just the patient. Not just the broken. Not just the weary. Not just the forgotten and the forlorn and the downtrodden. But healing me.

I am none of those things but I am real, and I am here.

"And my soul will hang on every word you say..."

[Image: Pinterest]