Rain is falling, which is a good thing, at least I think so.
And yes, I love it this way. It’s raining outside and all is quiet.
I think we can talk best on days like today.
But rain falls for more than one purpose.
I have been told about the dryness and the possibility of fires which is due to the absence of rain.
I understand this.
I also understand the tensions and strains of life, which can be tough sometimes.
I know what it feels like when the pressures around us build up to a point where the smallest thing can detonate the heart and cause us to explode.
Like . . . BOOM!
This is why I say that it’s good to have rain. The rumbles in the sky and the thunder are no less than a verbal representation of what’s happening. Take now, for example.
We all have something going on. We all have storms of our own, too, which are creeping up and about to burst.
The clouds become dark. The sky growls and then boom!
An electric light pierces the sky and crackles so the heavens can scream about vengeance and anger.
These are the storms, but try not to be afraid.
This is nothing else but the universe understanding that we cannot stop the momentum ourselves, nor can we break the intensity. So out of charity and kindness and with all the grace of heaven, the storms appear as a culmination of emotional war. The thunder growls and the lightening strikes, and then the rains come to wash the dust from the aftermath, which we created.
The sky takes on the rage and raindrops scream as they crash against my rooftop.
I can hear the raindrops, clearly as ever, crashing down like stormtroopers who fall to their deaths in a one-way, suicide mission or pact; to soak the earth from its angry battles and to wash away the figurative blood from the battlegrounds of mutual hearts.
But why fight?
Why rage?
Why do people draw the figurative blood of war; when in most cases, people yearn to connect. However, they either live in conflict, or theirs are the souls who carry burdens beyond someone or something else.
I understand this.
I can understand why these have been some of my conflicts and how my past traumas lead to internal and interpersonal conflicts or downfalls.
I understand fear. I understand confusion.
I know about shame and guilt, blame, and the need to understand or to assign fault. Above all, I know regret on a first name basis.
We talk all the time.
I know all of the above.
I see them all no differently from the way I would notice my local hooligans in the neighborhood.
Or I can materialize them as characters, like the old unhealthy friends who I once sought after for comfort, yet I was more uncomfortable when I was with them.
I view these ideas as bodies or as personalities, or better, I see all of these things as personal representations of me. Blame, shame, fault, guilt and regret.
I talk about them a lot, which is why I call them me. Yet despite their measures and miseries, I can say that I can relate to the unbearable pressure of life and the need to break free, so that I can stop the rage, or keep myself from falling apart.
I understand all of these things, and I can relate to them from different angles.
I know what sadness is. I know what rejection is.
I know what it’s like to assume or judge, predict, or to project my fears into future realities.
In fact, I can say that I have perfected this, like a craft, and I have perfected this quite well.
Whereas, in the cases of the heart or when it comes to the truth of the heart, or when we face matters that are beyond our control; and when it comes to showing faith, but fear takes over and the assumption of rejection is too blinding for me to see clearly, I can relate to the anticipation of heartbreak.
I can see what happens when we fall to the presumption of a broken promise to the point where I cannot think, believe, or feel anything else but the sum of my predictions.
The world around can become angry.
And so do I.
I cannot see clearly. I lose myself to the insanity of assumptions.
Understand?
This is how biases and insecurities destroy us. This is how irrational fears become the inner demons who fire the arrows that shoot down our dreams before they have a chance take off and reach the sky.
I understand this from a personal perspective and I offer this as a detail, or a map, which might help us to understand why we (as people) sabotage or materialize our worst possible fears.
And then we make them become real.
I understand this, not just as a human, but subjectively.
I understand what it’s like to assume the worst. More to the point, I know what happens after I subconsciously create the worst.
I have allowed the things that I feared the most and wanted the least, yet I failed to see my part in how I made them so.
But I’m not failing now.
Am I?
No. In fact, I am braver now than ever before.
I’m facing this now
(because of you).
Nobody wants to be miserable.
Everyone wants to be happy.
This makes sense, right?
However, there is the question of whether we believe that we deserve to be happy.
(Or not.)
This is what trips us or causes us to get in our own way.
Most people lack the honesty to identify or take their own inventory.
I have failed myself like this too. But in fairness, I always knew the truth.
I knew where I tripped myself.
I might not have wanted to say this before or recognize this.
But I have always known me
and deep down, so have you.
But this is me and I am not for everybody. However, even in the good hearts or when it comes to the times when good people do “bad” things, the challenge can be the fact that we are blurred or misdirected.
I have previously shown a lack of willingness to do what needs to be done or to fess for what needs to be fessed, which is what it takes to understand the mechanics of our personal failures.
It is not uncommon to be afraid nor is it uncommon to have a history of trauma or abuse; and lastly, it is far from uncommon to have been hurt or betrayed or lied to or to feel so beaten or so broken that we’ve sworn out loud and took an oath to the words, “Never again!”
“Never” is a really long time.
So is “always”
But ah, the rain.
Ah, the universe and how She understands me.
Ah, the sound of raindrops or the sight of rainfall from my window.
And ah, the need to break the tension or the need to soften the moment or apologize, or to let the rain do its trick. I love it this way.
With you and the rain, which I need right now, to wash away our sorry little lies and cleanse the earth from our bullshit fights and the dustups from our mild insanity.
I say the rain can be euphoric too.
I say the signs of relief can lead us to a high, unlike any other.
I say the rainfalls and storms and the days when Mother Earth reminds us to stay quiet are more like gifts. This is why I have always loved the rain.
I say that perhaps the challenge in front of us are the combinations of war, which lead to a storm of its own, and sooner, rather than later; I say that perhaps the moments we live through, or the storms we endure, are nothing more than the universe’s way of doing for us what we could not (or would not) do for ourselves.
And rain, she is a friend.
Trust me.
She reminds us that she is a gift of The Ultimate Mother, like the feel of a washcloth that wipes away a tear or the stains that bled from a broken heart.
So, let it rain.
Let the raindrops fall.
Let this wash away our sorriness.
Let the rain soak the dust to keep us from an airborne virus that becomes emotional that kills the heart and ruins our intentions.
Let it rain.
Let the sky growl or show teeth by dividing the sky with lightening bolts.
Let this be the anger so that we can lay our words to rest—and put our swords away.
Let the rain be the call to stop our own madness from driving the dagger home, or spreading the divide, which keeps us apart.
I don’t need to talk about getting high to discuss euphoria.
I don’t need a drug to feel this.
I do have needs though. I have wants and dreams and desires.
I have other challenges though, such as the assumptions that I am not enough or that otherwise, in the end, I will be revealed or seen as undesirable.
And I don’t want to be undesirable, at least not to you.
But yes, I am afraid.
I am afraid like a child would be.
I am afraid that my life or me (as I am) is otherwise unfit. Or in fairness, my biggest fear is that once I am seen (and I mean once I am honestly and truly seen) my fear is that I would be put back on the shelf, or rejected like a dog in a cage at the pound—which means, I have always been afraid that I was good enough to play with (for a while) but I would never be good enough to keep, bring home, or to be loved, as in “forever.”
And yes, I want to be kept.
I want to be owned and shared and loved and I want this and more now than ever before, because, above all, I want to return this with all that I have and with all of my heart.
Now—
I mention this subjectively, however, more importantly, I offer this as a roadmap to illustrate the damages and the results of life’s trauma.
I have this.
See?
I’m showing you as if to open my shirt and detail the scars or outline the ridges from my broken heart.
But more, I offer this as my own investigation into the ideas of “self.”
It’s okay to have trauma. It’s okay to see how you survived the trauma in your life. And it’s okay to understand why we do what we do or say what we say.
That’s fine.
It’s okay to be wounded or broken.
Maybe this is what makes us beautiful to each other.
You think?
However, having an awareness or being aware that we need help does not relieve us from the responsibility to identify, realize, adapt, understand and improve.
We have to make changes if change is to take place.
Otherwise, we leave the results up to different judges.
And not all judges play a fair game.
We need to remember that.
How many times have we apologized for the same things?
I don’t want to do this anymore.
I don’t want to be in a loop.
No, if I am to circle back, which I will in this journal, then I will only circle back to identify where and when my traumas began. Therefore, as a means to improve, I will only circle back to say hey, thanks. But I’ve had enough of this nonsense for one life.
I think I’d rather be happy.
I can hear the rain now and that’s a good thing.
Let it rain. Let me say goodbye to the dust of my unrelenting tensions.
Let the rain wash away my yesterday and me as well, so I can move ahead. Above anything else, I can walk away . . .
Clean.
Dear trauma,
Come for me, as you are
and I will show you as I will.
I am the one.
I am that boy
or that child
I am the one who began this,
not just to fight back,
or to free myself from my “before,”
but instead,
I have grown to become the one
who chooses to enact the right
to free myself
from you.
Of all people,
from me as well.
Besides . . .
You don’t really need me anymore.
Do you?
Wait . . .
Of course, you need me,
How else would you stay alive,
if I didn’t feed you?
The Written Addiction 