The Musings of xlee

I did nothing more than clean my living space from top to bottom and eat snacks. - There wasn't much going on besides grey skies anyway.  

I was hoping that I'd be opening my door, every other minute, for Trick-or-Treaters but kids don't knock on doors or ring bells like they used to. Not in this part of Bed-Stuy. Sadly. {Instead, they go to corner stores, laundromats, and any other business that's open - with hopes that they have candy}.

So I cleaned. 

Watched a movie, fell asleep, and woke up on the first of November feeling Fresh. & full of zest. -- Something tells me, November will be a very promising month for me. ...as it should be for us all, honestly. 

Having that sit-down with myself, two posts ago, really grabbed me by the collar and knocked me into shape. So from that day, I've been laying down new foundation for personal success + good emotional health. 

& well, ..shit's looking up. 

I mean, bathing in general is simply mind-calming. 

A lil' 10-20 minutes with a bar of Dove & water. 

Seeing this on my timeline ..at a time when my feelings are quite the same brings forth a world of emotions. It serves as a mirror. I see myself. I see who I am and a person whom I no longer wish to be. 

Writing for me has always been a mirror as well. I told my stories to better understand it’s subjects. ..The main character, being Me. I told my story to cleanse, to break down, and to heal. <— All of which, helped to make me wiser and grow {mentally and emotionally} as I made my way through life. 

Giving up the pen, has made me feel full. & not in a positive sense. More so, in a ‘full of shit' kind of way. Full of ruin. Full of old-selves. Stagnancy. & many 'no trash pick-up' days. I feel as if I'm wearing a skin that doesn't belong to me. There is, and has been for a while, a disconnect between body and soul. 

Writing, allowed me to evaluate myself. ..As one would be evaluated after 6months-1yr on a job. I once knew this girl very well.

But when I stopped… I lost touch. Too much had happened. I couldn’t face it. Didn’t want to relive it. & didn’t want to be seen. So I didn’t write.

I found it easier to bury those things within. ..It started with one, but we all know if you do something enough it becomes a habit. & now there’s a few. 

Hiding in the company of others was/is now the remedy. Running from myself, I’m realizing, is the main reason why I remain wounded. 

Wounded, when they’re too busy to hang and mask me from the person that I’m too ashamed to get to know. ..the one I refused to love.

"…tired of not being enough. Not just for them. …but for me too" …I am a work in progress.