I have been told that I should “put it all out there,” and give it up to the universe. I was told that I should say what I want, and that I should say this out loud, which is not so different from prayer, that is, of course, if I believe in prayer. And sometimes?
I’m not too sure.
Early morning, Monday.
I heard rain hitting the roof last night. I could hear the wind as well. I have a mind that spins with too many thoughts about the life behind me.
Then again, I have a life ahead of me, a mystery of course.
The great unknown.
I have work problems and life problems. I have financial concerns and romantic concerns. I have a heart and memory that roots in my past. Therefore, the vines from my past tend to reach over into the present and seemingly predict my future.
I am like most people.
I have been told, “You have to let that go.”
Of course, I do.
Like this is easy . . .
I have been told that we cannot live in the past or drive forward while paying attention to the rearview mirror. However, we can. It’s not helpful or comfortable,
but nothing can stop us.
Not even misery.
The future is always on the horizon. Tomorrow is my unwritten page, and so is the rest of today, for that matter. This means the next few steps are up to me.
I understand the difference between strategic and logical thinking as opposed to the details of emotional and sentimental thinking. I know what it means to be “too passionate,” or sensitive.
I understand life from an intellectual standpoint; however, I also understand that emotional thinking is not always intellectual or rational by any means.
Then again, a broken heart is a broken heart, and a broken soul is a broken soul. I understand what it means to go back to the beginning or having to start over. Additionally, I understand the fears and concerns and the worries about questions like, “Is this it?”
Is this what my life is going to be like?
Will I be alone?
Will I be detached or otherwise unmatchable and if this is the case, what will my happiness look like?
I understand investing in someone or something, only to have either of the two show their true face and go away. I know about having scars and the fears that I will be cut again, equally, and just as deeply.
But what kind of life is it to live this way?
I have to break this down –
The ego is a bitch. Ego is fragile and frightened, or scared of the dark, or scared that I will be forgotten, or let go, or otherwise, I am scared to face the facts that I might be unimportant and whether I walk away or not, the ego worries if I will be missed or if anyone will notice me if I go away?
Rejection is a bitch too.
Rejection is the ongoing idea that I am unwanted, or that I am not good, or good enough, or I am subject to the idea that other people (or someone else) is simply better than me. Here’s the real bitch, no matter how hard I try, no matter what I give, or if I weep or if I scream, rejection is the idea that I am too unworthy. Thus, I will never be worthy enough, nor will my goodness ever be bright enough to outshine or outweigh my flaws.
Who could love someone like this
(or like me)?
I am not the only person to think this way.
I know this. I am proud to say that I am part of a small crowd to admit to my truths.
I am not the only one who has been hurt or heartbroken.
I am not the only one who has fallen from grace or the only person who was betrayed or lied to.
I am not the only person who understands what it means to lose, or what it means to hurt. No, I am not the only person to encounter hard times, or to lose money, or to lose my investments that extend beyond the financial portfolio.
It is inaccurate to believe that no one else hurts or weeps or loses. It is also inaccurate to believe that I am the only person who lives with fear or pain. I am not the only person who lives or understands the details of rejection.
I am not alone, yet I understand what it feels like to be alone in the crowd or to have my heart be elsewhere when I am pretending to be present or “in the moment.”
I am imperfect. I am flawed.
I am far too deep inside of myself, overthinking as usual. I am all of this, or perhaps I should say yes, this is me and most of all, I am human.
I am real. More to the point, I am honest and sincere, even when I talk about my insincerities. I am a work in progress.
I am a hopeful child, eager to watch the sun come up over the beach. I am like a boy, hopeful for the chance to play again and yes, I am youthful.
And I choose to be youthful. So help me, God.
I choose to live this way because this is the truest version of me. This has always been me before age stepped in or disappointment intercepted my dreams.
I am a boy, a child, and nearly an infant too, which is fine to say, even at the age of 52, and as a grown man, I’m am fine to say this.
I say this because this is the most honest version of me.
However, this is my most frightened version of me, or scared — as in frightened that I won’t know how to play well enough, or frightened that I will be picked last, frightened that the other kids might be better than me, or scared that my laugh might be too awkward or my smile is too crooked.
I am frightened that I might say the wrong thing, or do something stupid, and yes, I am frightened that the others kids will be bigger than me, or better looking, or more desirable and cooler than me.
And then what?
Who would want me then?
Even if someone did want me, would i want them back?
This is honesty.
And oh, as for the universe?
I am told to put it all out there.
Well, then . . .
Here it goes –
I want to be free. I want to live, love, laugh, and learn. I want to dare again and be like I was when I was a child, unafraid to try, unafraid to believe in ideas or things like the man on the moon, or Guardian Angels, and I want to believe in fairytales.
I want to believe in lullabies. I want to enjoy moments like the first sunset when the fireflies reappear for the season. I want to remember how this feels when, soon enough, summer will take hold of this side of purgatory.
I want to eat ice pops from an ice cream truck that drives through the town and have my tongue turn blue from the snow cones or Italian ices.
I want to see the sky take off with fireworks and feel like I did when it was cool to react and be mesmerized by the rockets that blast in the sky.
I want to see beautiful things and share them openly and wholeheartedly. I want to extend my hands with a gift to someone I love and not think I am silly or too childlike.
I want to be me without the coverings and protective measures that I was fooled to believe in.
I want to lay down my arms and put away the weapons of emotional, personal, and mass or self-destruction.
I want to look into the eyes of beauty and be comfortable to be vulnerable and more than anything, I want to give all of this and have it all returned, just the same.
I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I don’t want to be tough or strong. No, I want to be fine to be meek and comfortable enough to be humble and modest enough to say yes, this is me. All of me.
I want to give all this away so that I can keep it with the right person.
I want the life I have always dreamed of.
I want the life I have always hoped for but never dared to reach for because, well, if I am being honest, how could anyone reach for someone if they never believe they can touch them?
Well, dear Universe,
I want to touch her.
I want this.
All of it.
Should I hurt again or fall from grace again, or should I give my all and none of this comes back to me, in return?
Then fine.
So be it.
At least I know that I am not loveless or incapable of feeling love.
It’s out there now.
All that I want and more.
The Universe has my wishes now
Please, be careful with them.
This is all that I have.
So, be gentle.
If not,
just give them back to me so I can put them away again.
Understand?
The Written Addiction 