It's simple; don't overthink it.
It will only take a moment and afterwards we’ll feel so much lighter, I swear. Release me from the burden of keeping all these secrets, of trying to hold everything in place, of reading your mind and mine and feeling like I’m getting it all wrong. Let’s just say what we are thinking, let’s be honest, let’s be us and then let’s keep on living, lighter than before, happier I’m convinced.
Can we talk?
There’s such serenity in taking a moment. Just a few minutes of calm and quiet to collect your thoughts. Breathe deep and look at your feet because that’s where you are and everything is okay. You can reemerge into the world with a fresh face. It often just takes that moment and you always deserve it.
Take a moment
"Stories like yours and worse than yours are all around, and your suffering won’t mark you out as special, though your response to it might." —Rebecca Solnit, "The Faraway Nearby"
"I urge you to please notice when you are happy."
- Kurt Vonnegut (via expectimperfection)
(Source: laviesepoursuit, via moonlightdrivers)
I often wait to write about something painful until after the damage has been done, the remnants of another failed romance have been cleared away. It gives me perspective for my story and clarity of tone. It is neat. I do not keep a diary, I’m afraid of what it might say. How weak that girl would sound, to read that version of me on the page. Who is she? Is that me? Ugh.
I am stubborn about my feelings, but often free with my love. When I get hurt, which happens a lot (see above: free with love), I let the hurt pass its way through me, slowly. My hand is over the flame, I feel the burn, but always alone. People can’t know, what will they think? I wait until my whole being is charred to tell people I was burning. It isn’t wise.
That stubbornness is a secret and it will destroy me.
To open up, to risk sounding overly indulgent and say that this one hurts, this thing that I am in is causing hurt that I am feeling… It’s another kind of pain, that vulnerability, the admission of weakness, but it’s one that makes me stronger. It guards against future pain, it takes some power away from the secret hurt and it let’s me acknowledge that things are shit, and that’s okay. Because saying it, that’s the only way things start to change. When I say I am hurting and it is real I must remind myself that the pain is possible because I’m still alive and I’m sober and all of this will pass. The more I open up, the quicker the tide will turn. I hope.
Somewhere along the way it became harder to believe in myself. It seemed uncool to be hopeful, being angsty felt like a necessity and moodiness suited me, or so I thought. I had this idea and I’m not sure where I picked up, but I held onto it for far too long, that being happy and hopeful meant being boring and static and that the cyncial people, the ones who chose to suffer, they were the ones who got it. I don’t know where I learned that optimism was such a bad thing. If you say your wish out loud, it won’t come true. Don’t say you want something, you’ll jinx yourself! Basically, just keep quiet. Maybe it’s just written into the rules of a being a teenager, maybe I idolized drug addicts for far too long, but I wasted a lot of time looking into empty subway tunnels and believing a train would never come for me.
"We can watch what happens when the girl under the bleachers puts down the blade. Suffering is interesting but so is getting better. The aftermath of wounds - the strain and struggle of stitching the skin, the stride of silver bones - contours women alongside the wounds themselves." -Leslie Jamison, "The Empathy Exams"
Getting Better is Interesting Too