My Little Runaway

Well. Things have changed, ALOT this time…

As I play Del Shannon’s hit song circa 1961, Runaway, over and over again, I am realizing that I have truly been running away from myself. Why is it so hard to be there with yourself? Maybe its because we associate being with ourselves, with loneliness. We’re afraid to be alone, the word alone has a terrible connotation that you must be lonely. I keep trying to remember, it’s a chance to be with yourself, the person that will honestly always be there.

It seems like the entire planet is facing this dilemma of more than just self care, but a realization of how much power we truly have over ourselves. Many of these wake up calls have really shook us as a species to our core, and it seems there are so many power plays happening that I can’t keep up anymore. The thing I have to remember is, what is it that I myself am in control of. This thought can either lead to panic, or empowerment. I fear I’ve been teetering between both.

Last time I wrote, I admitted to dating again, and then realized I wasn’t ready to. Well, I did it again. I thought maybe I could tread lightly, but it turns out, that just isn’t who I am. I am learning to listen to my feelings more and stop trying to bury them, cover them up, or dismiss them. I am also trying to learn how to do the same for others, which apparently I’m not very good at yet, and that is OK. I’m still in the process of healing myself first.

For the past two months, I have been diving deep into the emotional waters. I was always told to grow a thicker skin, but it turns out I didn’t get thick skin, I am still soft and fleshy. What I did manage to do, was build some massive walls that have been blocking my entire body’s energetic flow. Anytime I’ve ever started to feel bad, I automatically try to do something else. Sitting in the bad feeling never occurred to me, until someone told me it was okay to. Strange, that thought hadn’t really occurred to me.

I have to give a lot of credit to the friends that I’ve been spending all my time with. To have someone stick around and listen, to get into little weird debates, and have it not feel good, but still stick around, that has been incredibly healing. I’ve moved as many times as I am old, and I wouldn’t say that is something to be proud of. It’s exhausting, and it’s sad to always say goodbye. I realized in the past two months, that there are many people that know me, but very few really know me. Knowing that you aren’t going to have someone around forever has made my outlook on truly connecting incredibly grim.

 My friend, Ary, and I have been going through self isolation together as roommates even after it felt like we wouldn’t be able to find our balance. We made it past all of our trauma replays, and have developed a good handle on recognizing when the other is replaying something that is only seemingly related to the other. When we’re on it, we listen, we speak kindly and when we don’t, we are okay to sit in that uncomfortable feeling for awhile until we’re ready to reproach.

Having someone allow me to sit in my discomfort gave me the ability to break down these walls and really be okay to feel again. What I wasn’t ready for was the massive flow of emotions that painfully spewed out all over the place. Whoopsie. I guess I had built a dam.

Oddly enough, I felt like a teenager again. Did anyone else ever have an “emo” phase? Apparently, emo, is short for emotional. We basically formed an image of someone that is emotional into a gothic, self-harming, scream-o listening, side banged, skinny jean wearing, child. I don’t know why humans had to label that image as an overly emotional person that can’t contain their feelings… Anyways, it felt like I went back to the time before my heart was shattered, and I was completely in my emotions. I went emo. I started playing guitar and I got addicted to feeling the pain at the ends of my finger tips. I started singing again, I opened up enough to allow myself to be humiliated when I sing in an off key, or I fall flat. I have so much more respect for musicians now that I understand how much they are actually allowing themselves to feel.

Ary says everything is like a pendulum, swinging from one end to the other, until it reaches the centre point. I feel like everything is like water. You either make a wave or a ripple, but in the end stillness is the where you’ll return.

So here I am, returning to stillness.

Oh yeah, I did three days of silence, and failed over and over again. When I went to write, I had nothing to say. And that is all I have to say about that.

Back to stillness.

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