Worth the rewrite:
Speaking of worth . . .
Here’s a little poem about value –
The things people say are often different from the things we hear.
But hey, in the land of Interpretation, misconception is king (or queen, depending upon the circumstance.)
Along the way, I have to admit, I’ve met some interesting people. None of which are who most would expect. None of them walk with signs around their neck that say, “I used to stick needles in my arms,” or, “I used to drink a few pints a day.”
Along the way, I have met people that endured the worst of things. They survived (somehow) the worst that life has to offer. They survived themselves. They survived abuse. They survived rapes and beatings and tragedies and no matter how far down they fell, somehow, they had the ability to overcome and stand back up again.
Somehow, these people found the ability to heal and recover. You would never know it by seeing them but these were the best people I had ever seen before.
There is a commonality amongst us all in which we all grieve and we all fear. No one among us is able to escape the unfortunate and eventual fact that life ends.
This fact is no less true than it is inescapable; and in the stun of the painful news when we lose a loved one, we grieve, and we feel, we lose our breath, and instantly, the world changes because a part of our world is no longer with us.
You swear this is the last time you’ll ever feel this way. You try to convince yourself this is it. No more. From now on, everything is going to be different.
You promise yourself the world.
That’s right. Tomorrow is going to be a new day. And you tell yourself this like you mean it
(because you do.)
You practice saying the things you’ve been waiting to say for years. Only, this time, you say it with determination.
This time you mean it.
You say it with the punctuation, like an exclamation mark.
So there!
You look in the mirror, you give yourself that affirming nod. You look your reflection right in the eye; and you can see you mean it (this time.)
Now all you have to do is follow through.
From a young age, we were told we can be anything we want. We were told we could be an astronaut. We could be a fireman. We could be a doctor or a lawyer. We were told we can be anything.
All we had to do is apply ourselves.
There were times when ah, I swear, all I wanted to do was dive into the excess. And I mean, I wanted to dive right in, head first, and feel myself submerged in my own special bliss.
I can recall looking at the clock and counting the minutes. I would look at the time and negotiate the hours to make them move quicker.
One by one, the seconds would move me closer to a sensational plunge, which would alter my mind, and separate me from life and limb.
As I move into new branches of my life, I am reminded of the importance of my choices and which voice I choose to listen to. Understand?
We all have that internal voice. We have that internal monologue, which can often have a way of misleading us from our goals.
Before going forward, I want to be very clear about a few things. Understand that I am not a clinician or a social worker. I am not a medical doctor, psychiatrist, nor psychologist, nor do I want to be.
I am me and I say this proudly.
I am me without apology, in fact, and before going forward, I am not claiming to be a professional or an authority; however, I someone of experience on the matter.
I cannot say why or how or if I know for certain.
I can only say that I know my love is real.
I know my love is real because
I feel it.
It lives and breathes. It feels and it weeps.
My love is a laugh that I could not live without.
It’s a soft touch.
My love is the feel I get when I hear a name and I realize,
at last, I know I’m not alone.
It was right around this time. I knew something was about to happen. I had not gone all in, just yet.
I had gone back to old behaviors and used old defense mechanisms. I went back to the old coping skills of my previous life. Essentially, I went back to the old me because in the simplest terms, I failed to maintain the new person I had become.
