A friend inspired me this week. Someone that’s so close to me started to write, and asked me to read it. The saying goes that you are your biggest critic, and for me it’s never been so true. Not just in my writing but in everything I do. I constantly question my own decisions and the paths that I create. The fear of doing well, the fear of achievement. The fear of people acknowledging your success.
Many people will find that unusual, mainly people that are driven to succeed and driven for people to acknowledge all they’ve done, and that’s all well and good but two and one are not the same and for me, one is perfectly fine where as you may prefer two.
I find myself in my writings, it’s the only place where I can go and be myself with only my own judgement. My own truths. It’s where I acknowledge myself, and express where I can’t with spoken word. It never seems to come out right if I say it. All in all though, I feel lost. I can never bring myself to write, I open up word countless times a day and carry round one of my journals with me like a severed limb and it takes an evening like this one where I’ve found myself so inexplicably cross for me to be able to actually emulate it into written word.
I have a lot of things to be cross about, I have a lot of things to be upset about, and I’ve kept quite the cool head for so long that I was bound to lose it. I can’t be calm all the time, its unnatural. I can’t go along with what everyone else wants all the time and to forgo my own wishes to accommodate theirs. The fear of confrontation. The fear of getting hurt.
I’m so, so exhausted from constantly trying to protect myself from further pain. I’m so exhausted of trying to be this hardly emotive person who doesn’t feel, and who just sits back and lets it all happen to her. It’s gotten to the point where I can’t enjoy myself and I can’t speak up because I’m so scared of losing or offending others. That’s what it boils down to, being scared.
I’m so scared, I’m terrified of my life, I’m terrified of losing people, I’m terrified of upset, and most of all I’m scared to be myself and the worst part is, this is because someone beat me down until I felt like I was less than worthless. Every time I tried to be myself I was persecuted, every time I tried to speak up, mainly in a hope to change it, I was manipulated into thinking that it was my behaviour causing me to feel the way I do. Manipulating those around me to think that I was ill, and it was all in my head. Although I'm not angry about it anymore, I'm just taking my time processing it. I worry more for the other people who will experience it in the future, and be too naive to see, just as I was, and for the women who are just as scared as I was, and am. I’m not afraid of how absolutely shit scared I am of everything. It almost drives me to overcome it more, exposure therapy almost. I've always had the drive for change, for being resourceful when needs be.
For the first time in a long time, my environment is a safe and secure one and that brings me joy beyond belief, and finally I am home, but its time for me to admit that I’ve come back in pieces. Fragments of the person who left to try and make something of herself. In reality I’ve returned in a babushka doll and someone’s misplaced some of my insides. I'm also a lot of the time missing the one thing that makes me who I am, a Mother.
You know what though, it’s OK, well, it's not, but you deal with it, you adapt. I have and always will live my life as who I am, I don’t pretend to be someone I am not. I don’t pretend that I’m not in pain, but it’s time for me now to acknowledge it. I will never be the same again. I will never be that person I once was. Flowers die, but some plant seeds in the process.
I need to find some peace with myself, but what I know now, which I refused to believe before, is that I am more than the person I once was. I am allowed to be upset, and to be angry and to feel. I’m allowed to feel, and if you feel something, it’s real, and that is your truth. Never apologise for your truth. You will tire from searching for something to make you whole again, when the piece missing, or lost, is lost for good reason.
You’ll find what is missing within yourself, that’s what I tell myself, everything’s an adjustment. I know my worth is in there too, and it’s not insecurities. I’m secure in knowing that I’ve been through a hell of a lot and got out the other side, albeit slightly bruised.
If people can’t see my value, then I can’t see any of theirs, and if something makes you happy, and sad, and cross and confused, it makes you feel something then that’s the value you need to keep hold of. It reminds you that you’re real, we are human beings after all, there’s no point fighting nature.
Perhaps I'm less lost than I thought I was, maybe I just needed reminding. See, that's the magic in writing, and reading, you never know what you might find at the end of it. A little piece of yourself.