I wake feeling painfully bitter, but knowing it is something worth rallying against, I get up and go about my day in the usual way. I feel angry for a majority of it—mostly I’m angry with myself for feeling so angry. That’s uniquely hellish and unnecessary, aye?

And then it just sounds like whining, and I feel kinda sad. Something from the past hits my mind:

“You’re sad all the time. Why don’t you give it a rest?”

Maybe I can let it rest for the rest of the day. I could probably try.

That big sad doesn’t have to mean much anymore. Not to us.

Maybe not everything is my fault and these feelings are not my weight to carry anymore. Maybe it never was, and that hardened frame of mind, the one they say won’t continue to flex and change at my age, will need to be changed. The suffering won’t be in vain—even if I let it go. There is so much ground to cover—the load should be as light as possible. There should be room for lightness. There should be room for light. It starts with correcting this desire(?) to beat myself to a pulp with no recourse for retribution, all for having any emotion that seems to overfill and push me beyond the Threshold. 

And then there are the self-made failures, which are truly the failures of others that carry a poisonous stink or cause me some kind of scarring, and I could spend weeks or worse licking the wounds or spiraling out of control under the self-inflicted degradation. I don’t know who originally convinced me I deserve to feel this way, but today, and for a long time, I have allowed that conviction to exist and grow unchecked. It’s not my fault in the sense I am worthy of punishment, but it is my responsibility now, and really, that makes me quite powerful.

I think about the people who have hurt me badly and are now long, long gone. I spent a lot of time thinking, “What did I do wrong?” and exhausting avenues of emotional closure. They made me feel bad, and it must be my fault unless they tell me otherwise… right? Ha. Isn’t it heavy enough without letting that literal shit weigh me down? Suddenly, it’s no fucking wonder I’ve been so tired, so restless, so sleepless, so sick to my stomach, and so, so sad. Not so suddenly, but more seriously, my life depends on it. The quality of the lives around me depend on it just as much.

I was angry, hurt, and ashamed of myself. Anyone I loved who turned their back on me needed to feel something equal to the pain I felt, but that’s something I only thought at the time. How much lighter it would be to say, “Wow, that’s too bad. Goodbye,” when I fail to meet an impossible standard imposed on me—standards I would not impose on people I love. But that’s just me, personally. And they do themselves, personally. And that’s okay. Well, maybe it doesn’t feel okay, and that’s a feeling worth dealing with too, but rooted in the healing should be a simple fact that it’s not my fault you’re gone. My reality will become one where I take responsibility where due, but other than that, I am free of torture and free of blame. I won’t tirelessly punish myself anymore under the false conviction that I deserve it. It just isn’t right for anyone.

Keith has always said something. “You care so much, it scares me.” I used to not understand it, or I might have even taken it like a compliment. Ha. After 12 short years, I know it’s not a compliment. If you have made an honest observation of me like Keith has, fear is a reasonable response. The power it has held over me has been deeply imposing—ruling many of my thoughts and decisions, and contributing a great level of suffering onto me and the people closest. Yes, that caring, which I always imagined quite easily as something good and floral and light and me, has a direct link to the thing strong enough to weigh me down to the ground or even kill me. How did this come to be? I don’t know. I could name a few things in my past or even come up with a few hypotheses rooted in real psychological theory with proven application. I could really dive into it until this turns into a jargon-filled report. What do I know for sure? It’s a deadly connection that needs to be severed. That thing that inspires fear is real and needs to be killed. Its far-reaching, ancient arms leak into my world, and it’s my job to cut the ties. For all of our sakes. How else can I make this right? How else do we lose the burden of weight and fear? We dig it out, and we cut it. That’s a job worth doing.

We’re different now, you, me, all of us. It’s okay if we don’t need each other. I don’t need to take the heat for that. I can simply cut the same ties you have cut. It can simply not have a hold over me. I could give it a damn rest.

^{Thursday, August 22, 2024}

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