Weak, breathing slow and shallow. Certain no one will see me, surprised each time someone reads me here. No longer a good daughter, sister, friend. Letting it all go. It doesn’t matter who I was or what I did. Shedding every bit of that. What’s left? Acceptance. Gotta work on that.
When the prettiness turns to pain, push it down. Find purpose? Is my purpose breathing? Breathing. Sometimes it feels like I don’t need to breathe. I could just stop. Doesn’t work.
- I should _______, ________, and ________. Many words fit in these spaces and run on a loop through my head all day, every day.
Tell myself I shouldn’t should on myself.
This blog is evidence that I think and create. Who fucking cares?
To you, if you too seek refuge from chronic illness and/or chronic pain. Take care of yourself, and I don’t say that in a namby-pamby kind of way. Do not become an arid, little nothing as a result of withdrawing into yourself to avoid burdening – I just realized I rarely use burden as a verb. I assign it to myself and personalize it. I own it even as I try so hard not to feel it. Becoming a whisper. There I go, acting as though I have unique, meaningful experiences to share.
Whatever. Doom and gloom again. Not gonna apologize because I need to stop seeking forgiveness for being broken, which is not a big deal because those repulsed or annoyed didnt read this far. Even my brokenness is broken.
Such a rebel am I, not gonna proof read. Maybe tomorrow. ✔