a miscellany of whimsies

I’d like to write you a little something to thank you.

Thank you for showing me what good and respectful communication looks like.

Thank you for showing me what it means to be heard.

Thank you for showing me compromise.

Thank you for spoiling me.

Thank you for never asking anything in return.

Thank you for not hiding me, for treating me like an equal, for opening up to me.

Thank you for the tenderness behind your touch.

Thank you for showing me that I can love again, hurt again, and be okay again. Now I’m not afraid anymore.

I’m going to write my thoughts here and I’m not going to delete a thing. Except typos. Here we go.

I’ve been coming to terms with a lot lately. I’m grateful for my past experiences and the hurt that I’ve waded through. I’im grateful for the mistakes I’ve made along the way. I see my imperfections and I’m okay with them. I see how my past has influenced me, and how my childhood has hurt me. I see how the past has hindered me. 

But now I understand how to accept that those things have happened. There is a sense of openness that comes with self-acceptance. I haven’t perfected the art of self-love just yet, but I am walking down that road. The sun rises in the distance and gently caresses my outstretched arms. 

I am so incredibly proud of myself. Tears are welling up in my eyes now.

I’ve come so far, that I am no longer defined by the labels I prescribed to in the past. I’m okay that I behave differently in different situations. I’m okay that I’m sensitive. I’m okay that I have gentler and less outgoing approach. 

I take the convenience of a medium-sized city for granted. It’s a 5-minute drive to the shops (2-3km), a 2-minute walk to the nature reserve, and my favourite pup lives in my backyard. She’s ready for pats at a moment’s notice.

On a rural property, the shops are a 20-minute drive away (driving 30km at 80-100km/hr), nature is everywhere but the nearest walking track is a 5-minute drive away, and I’m almost 600km away from my dog.

Back home, I can drive 10 minutes to university.

Out here, it’s an hour commute to work.

At home, it’s multicultural and diverse, and everyone accepts and celebrates this.

Here? Well, I’m yet to see. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have any concerns.

When I think about you, it feels like a boa constrictor around my throat. The thing is, I don’t think it’s even about you. I think the boa is always there, slithering in the shadows, just out of reach of the lantern light. You see, you have not brought the boa into being. I have brought the boa along with me. 

She’s a fiendish character and an amorphous being. There are fewer and fewer opportunities when she thinks it’s just right to brave the light, but those moments still exist. 

Like when I met you.

She’s a shackle around my neck. Cold bloodless chains of worry: Will you like me? Do you like me? When will we talk?

I wonder if she’ll ever morph into a light necklace, one that asks questions and worries of myself, rather than of others: Will you like him? Do you like him? What will I say?

Now it comes in waves. Except the waves are far apart and much smaller, more like ripples lapping at my feet. The waves are no longer tsunamis of bone-shattering emotions, instead, nostalgic drops of resentment and sadness.

You are in control of how you feel and your response to situations. Perhaps your desire to stay in one place is reflective of an inner need to figure out this aspect of control. I wonder about people who love traveling, and I wonder if this love stems from a compulsive need for external triggers for positive emotions. 

It’s merely a thought.

So says Nietzsche, which means it’s time for some self reflection.

They call it heartbreak because there’s an almost unbearable pressure in the left side of your chest when love dies, when love leaves, when love betrays.

Setting that aside, why does it hurt?

It hurts because I envisioned a future with him. The pangs of pain shoot through me because I thought this was the end of a search and a beginning of a journey. I invested emotions, energy, time into the relationship and the shock of an abrupt end hasn’t yet been absorbed. It hurts because I should be doing something else, something life bettering, aside from sitting in my chair and weeping. I have to remember not to hope he will decide it was a mistake. I have to soldier on, even though I was utterly devoted and deeply in love.

Why to live?

Because people say it gets better. People say it will start to hurt less. Already, there are moments when I feel like I am out of tears. Not feeling does not equate to feeling better but it’s a step by step process. If I can function after my mother’s death, a break up is inconsequential. The future I imagined is only a figment, the future I otherwise would have had with my mum was real.

I have to remember that I have friends and family who love me. Unconditionally. That they will be a part of my life because I choose so and because they choose to. That one person out of eight billion is the smallest blip.

I have two dogs who are two gorgeous fluffy bundles of unbridled energy.

Travel? Travel is pretty great.

Learning to unashamedly to be myself. Striving to be an improved version. To learn new skills, to find new experiences, to share new connections and to see the beauty in life. To appreciate the little joys I used to - the glint on the leaves and grasses as the sun shines through them, the golden colour of warmth, passion, life.

Painting. Art. Creating. Expressing what’s in my head on the canvas.

Living in a little town. Doing some hikes. Doing some day walks. Feeling like a tiny speck in a great expanse but also feeling accompanied and surrounded by invisible forces.

Finding some spirituality. Finding peace. Finding love for myself.

Learning in general. New concepts, new processes. Perhaps I can truly be a better me without the anxiety of a relationship.

.

watching the sky bleed the life out of the trees listening to the whispering shadows in the undergrowth feeling the weight of my burdens through the pain in my knees i ..really..just want to go

At twilight, the world is a strange place. It’s a mesh of blues and a jumble of hidden shadows. You can see movement but cannot discern. There are sounds but only in the shadows.

Things that used to be vibrantly coloured are fading to the same colour. It’s mostly dark, but not quite. Because it’s blue.