A Box Beneath the Bed

And then?
One day became two and two became four. And the more I moved, the farther I was from what happened and what took place. I have been here before, at the base of my own rebuilding or reconstruction.
No one asks to have to go back to the beginning.
But no one realizes that life is always subject to change.
This is true.
However, time can be a friend as well as an enemy. Time can linger and drag and time can leave us to the solitary isolation of overthinking our way into depressive ideas or worse, time can tick away and we can do nothing except become a prisoner to our thoughts.

Or, time can move us away from the time behind us.
The more I stepped, the more I put one foot in front of the other, and the more this happened, the further I was from my regard for what happened, or what was and what could have been.

I assume everything can seem impossible. I assume this is especially true at the beginning. And let’s not forget our basic comforts and the surroundings we kept, which were not the best nor desired — but instead, we understood the comforts of common practice. We understood the ins and outs and the everyday functions of a life that was settled upon.
We knew all about this because, of course, our trust and our dreams appeared too big or too far-fetched to reach. The idea to reach for the stars was more of an impossibility, or even more, it was too daring to even believe that our stars exist.

And believe me . . . our stars do exist.

I say this as it fits me. And yes, this does fit me. This is my story.
I say this because I have accomplished a sad surrender and lost myself to a consecutive decision that something about me is either unworthy or unwantable.
I have fulfilled a self-fulfilled prophecy which believed that this is life, and so, this is all my life can (or will) ever be.

I know what loneliness is.
I know about the fears that somehow, this is me and that this will always be me, alone as ever, and unmatchable by far.
But deep down, i know this is not true.

I know that if this were true, I would have surrendered to a life less-desired but deep down, I knew that I always wanted more.
I want more. I’ve always wanted more.
I was just afraid to reach for more because I was afraid of the rejection or the attempt for greatness, and then I was afraid that I would miss or otherwise be unwanted or too awkward and ugly.

I have been told that I am more.
More than what, I wonder.
I have been told that I am better than I believe.
But what does this mean if I don’t believe this?
It has been said that I need to work on my confidence, and that I need to put down the bat I beat myself up with. Rather than see my defeats, I have been told that I need to see my accomplishments.
I have been told that I should write a gratitude list, or that, at minimum, I should set aside at least a few minutes of the day to go over the best things that I saw or heard.

And do you know what?
Maybe I should . . .
All I can say is awareness sparks emotion and emotion can spark the motions that can lead to change.

I have never been much for positive affirmations nor was I ever comfortable with the inspiring words from other people. I never liked the little therapeutic sayings people use.
In fact, I have always hated them.
I say this because at my worst, or back to when I was jaded or when my thoughts and assumptions were misguided and trained for misery, I would never listen nor adhere to the cliches or the helpful sayings that looked to touch the soul. I resented the words that would be said to inspire me or keep the mind alive when my body was too tired to take another step.

Worse, or in the depths of my hatred and in the span of my contempt, I would do nothing else but object to everything because I lacked the belief that I could have the life I always wished for. I failed to see the other side or to realize that my glass was half-full. Not half-empty. To this I would tell people, “fuck you and your glass.”
I’d say, “Give me what’s in your glass if you’re so goddam happy.” Then I would sneer as their smile turned uncomfortable.

I understand the theories of emotional blindness. I understand the marks of trauma and the habitual belief systems that kept me stuck. And yes, I understand the emotional flinches that I look for and expect the pain to come at any given moment.
Avoid the quiet and the peace because this is when pain slips in out of nowhere, and next, the blindsided nature of heartbreak is as it was and exactly as I remembered.

I know who I am. I know what I have done.
I understand that for every action, there is a reaction, and I fully understand the consequences of my reactionary life.

And for what?
Why?
Where did the lies come from, or better yet, why did I choose to believe them?

I got it.
The mind is always looking to find accountability, which means that someone has to be at fault. I get that it is more often an accurate account to say that there are more volunteers than there are victims in this world. I have been writing this down since the start of my journey.

I suppose this is because we seem to remain with the thoughts or ideas and the life that we understand; therefore, we hold onto our common discomforts because at least they make sense. In which case, the fear of the unknown can be crippling at best. So we stick with the demons we know instead of hoping for the angels we could meet along the way.

I don’t want to be crippled by the remnants of my past. I don’t want to lose sight of my goals because of an inaccurate belief system and I do not what to be subjected to a mindset that I am ugly and unwanted. I do not want to give in to the biases and trained assumptions that I am flawed or extensively too imperfect.

No.
I want to break the chain.
I want to step away.

I want to step outside of my front door while the sun comes up. I imagine the street is empty. The rest of the world is sleeping with their comforts and me, I am up and awake, and I am about to step away from everything that is behind me.

I want to walk . . .

I want to feel the ground beneath my feet. I want to feel the early morning breeze as it moves past my face and I want to feel the victory that comes with every step, because one by one, I can step away from the betrayal. The further I go, the farther I am from the lies or the pain or the hurt that something went wrong or that with regards to me and someone else, no matter what, I need to get rid of the idea that I was never going to be good enough.

I have to step away . . .

I used to try to figure out what went wrong. I wanted to know who was at fault. I needed to find accountability but in all fairness to myself, sometimes, life is bullshit.
Sometimes, people do and say things that can leave behind an unfixable damage and an irreparable mark. Oftentimes, the creases and folds in our chapters cannot smoothen or be perfect as they used to be.
And so, we turn the page and hope the next chapter can improve for us.

Life changes.
Feelings change.
Love can change too. But not real love.
No, true love is far more valuable and far braver than any other emotion known to our species.

And me?
I want to be brave.

I am no longer the sum of my past nor a compilation of events.
I am not a string of predictions. I am not here for the food and friends.
No.
This is war.
But this is a war that’s worth fighting.

I have to admit that this is not where I thought I would be—but this is where I am, and so?
What does that mean for me now?
What will this mean for me tomorrow?

Am I alone?
Will I always be alone?
Will I learn to master the art of solitude to the point where lonesomeness is no longer a threat; and therefore, I will not choose to love out of fear or destroy my love, as if to sabotage my changes because I am afraid of the unknown.

I am no longer willing to accept any substitutions nor am I interested in compromising my vision, my dreams and, at minimum, whether I succeed or live humbly (like I am now), I will never settle nor allow myself to ignore the red flags or believe the pretty lies, just because they are more comfortable than an unfortunate or an ugly truth.

Let me face the world like a firing squad and defy their bullets so I can survive.

The biggest truth is this: my fear is I am ugly, or that I am stupid, or that I am unworthy and incapable of being equally loved and mutually nurtured.

This is what I need to change.
I have had to say goodbye to my past. I’ve had to tell myself this is it now.
This is the time to rebuild yourself.
I’m fine with the rebuilding because if you are here with me now, then this means you have always been here with me, in one form or another.

I can’t live in fear that I am going to lose everything. Or more importantly, I cannot live in fear that I am going to lose you or my love (again).

Today is a new day.
Do with it as you choose to.
I can guarantee you that I will.

You can bet your ass on that one.

I love you.