And. Yet. But. Still.
Today I just close my eyes. Just the best thing I can do. I lean back into a pray. Hoping. Loving. Asking. Begging. Crying. And still learning. Listening and hoping. More and more. What more can I do?
A small sacrifice I make for being me. Alas I cannot expect anyone to understand. I certainly don't feel that I could just come out and give all my emotions to anyone right now. Just HURT. Just TIRED.
And still I keep moving. I know it will take time to get through it. It always does. Then when I am back in my own field, playing my own self I get to see the light. So now its back to those moments. Entering my field now. Leaning into the worn path I have beaten down. Beaten against time and time again. This last entry that finds me kneeling on the ground. Striving to dig into the mud and really understand where I am changed.
My hole I had crawled from still sits concrete closed. Yet I still look at it for the reminder that I have pulled myself out. I cannot go back there. And still I find myself seeking comfort. Tapping my foot on the hard surface just to reconfirm there are no weak points. No ways to fall down. Only way to hurt is to scrape my knee or break a leg.
Nothing makes the hole really disappear but its full. Surely I don't have the desire to find another muddy pit to dive into. Surely there is no reason in my life for that. Certainly I know I have felt times where digging a grave inside the pit was the only way I was going to get a release. Yeah I have times where I go back and think of those times.
Yes even as of just a few days ago. No. I have not reached the desperate measures of death. Nor that of harm. Just a few thoughts of how I did pull myself up. How I did survive. How I did continue to move. Just want to find that way again.
Feels like so long ago people I cared about listened. I seem to feel as though I just rattle on and on. No real conversation. That all died a long time ago. I realize that now. Here I have tried so hard to cling to what was, forgetting the key word "was". Really hoping I was wrong. And yet I know I am not.
Does it hurt? Somewhat. To finally realize there are no tracing backwards. Shrugs. That is how it has to be. And yet I still cling to the dream, the hope that I am incredibly wrong. Still chide myself so much to realize that I cling to "was" not now.
And. Yet. But. Still.
My prayers have to lean toward what I learn today, here and out. Forgetting so much. Not hating. Not choosing. Not laying blame. Not getting too nervous about things. Just has to be what is before me. Just has to be a focus. Even if the outside layers are still smiling and laughing. I still am maintaining the joy. Just a bit more quietly.
All the words I have to say just have to be me. Whether people like it or not. It just has to be who I am. Who I grow to be. Indeed my prayer has me so overwhelmed in emotional tears. Yet it is such a good thing. I see that Jehovah is holding my hand. Helping me go and let go.
It hurts. But it heals. Jehovah heals.
And. Yet. But. Still.
I cannot let go of the reality of the situation. I have to feel peace. Keep moving. Keep begging for the lessons. Keep leaning on Jehovah. Keep clinging where I can. Leave the love, the hope and the dreams in a box for now.
The hope. I intend for whatever can be repaired, repaired.
The dream. One that lives deep in memories and truth.
The love. Only I can explain once there is reality inside it again.
Until then I just maintain my appearances. Remember to learn from every conversation, every meeting of a person and any piece of life experience I am given. Good or bad. Joyful or hard.
My prayer. My lessons. I beg. I hope. I dream. One day in real life.
A small sacrifice I make for being me. Alas I cannot expect anyone to understand. I certainly don't feel that I could just come out and give all my emotions to anyone right now. Just HURT. Just TIRED.
And still I keep moving. I know it will take time to get through it. It always does. Then when I am back in my own field, playing my own self I get to see the light. So now its back to those moments. Entering my field now. Leaning into the worn path I have beaten down. Beaten against time and time again. This last entry that finds me kneeling on the ground. Striving to dig into the mud and really understand where I am changed.
My hole I had crawled from still sits concrete closed. Yet I still look at it for the reminder that I have pulled myself out. I cannot go back there. And still I find myself seeking comfort. Tapping my foot on the hard surface just to reconfirm there are no weak points. No ways to fall down. Only way to hurt is to scrape my knee or break a leg.
Nothing makes the hole really disappear but its full. Surely I don't have the desire to find another muddy pit to dive into. Surely there is no reason in my life for that. Certainly I know I have felt times where digging a grave inside the pit was the only way I was going to get a release. Yeah I have times where I go back and think of those times.
Yes even as of just a few days ago. No. I have not reached the desperate measures of death. Nor that of harm. Just a few thoughts of how I did pull myself up. How I did survive. How I did continue to move. Just want to find that way again.
Feels like so long ago people I cared about listened. I seem to feel as though I just rattle on and on. No real conversation. That all died a long time ago. I realize that now. Here I have tried so hard to cling to what was, forgetting the key word "was". Really hoping I was wrong. And yet I know I am not.
Does it hurt? Somewhat. To finally realize there are no tracing backwards. Shrugs. That is how it has to be. And yet I still cling to the dream, the hope that I am incredibly wrong. Still chide myself so much to realize that I cling to "was" not now.
And. Yet. But. Still.
My prayers have to lean toward what I learn today, here and out. Forgetting so much. Not hating. Not choosing. Not laying blame. Not getting too nervous about things. Just has to be what is before me. Just has to be a focus. Even if the outside layers are still smiling and laughing. I still am maintaining the joy. Just a bit more quietly.
All the words I have to say just have to be me. Whether people like it or not. It just has to be who I am. Who I grow to be. Indeed my prayer has me so overwhelmed in emotional tears. Yet it is such a good thing. I see that Jehovah is holding my hand. Helping me go and let go.
It hurts. But it heals. Jehovah heals.
And. Yet. But. Still.
I cannot let go of the reality of the situation. I have to feel peace. Keep moving. Keep begging for the lessons. Keep leaning on Jehovah. Keep clinging where I can. Leave the love, the hope and the dreams in a box for now.
The hope. I intend for whatever can be repaired, repaired.
The dream. One that lives deep in memories and truth.
The love. Only I can explain once there is reality inside it again.
Until then I just maintain my appearances. Remember to learn from every conversation, every meeting of a person and any piece of life experience I am given. Good or bad. Joyful or hard.
My prayer. My lessons. I beg. I hope. I dream. One day in real life.
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