I've become this faded, stagnant, disconnected, & weaker version of myself. Hidden behind denial & procrastination. Buried amidst the chaos of survival of the shittiest. It's always the same.
I've been sauntering along the edge (in every definition of the word) like it's the only catwalk I've ever known. The edge of confidence. The edge of selfishness. The edge of success. The edge of self-sabotage. The edge of pleasure. The edge of pain. The edge of all the things I wish I could grasp ahold of intimately simply to stake a claim. Mine. The edge of all the things I just want to throw away like they could never be a part of me again.
But either side of this edge I fall, there is only guilt & shame & the dread of waiting for the other shoe to drop just to pry these parts of me right out of my broken heart– out of my broken hands.
I've always struggled with whatever it is that I deserve because I was told my whole existence that I deserved nothing. By parents choosing to walk away, by a congregation of strangers playing righteous savior under a faulty faith, by lovers that left with what scraps they could scavenge from my haunted soul.
But these are only smaller parts of a whole picture. A picture shaped with bits of Seasonal Affective Disorder, pieces of OCD, & a whole whopping ton of body dysmorphia. There's so much more that I still can't bring myself to even think about, nevermind discuss openly… & the irony in knowing that every moment of my past has built me. I wouldn't be me otherwise. Then again, I haven't exactly been myself lately…
I often have to spend time in a carved out slice of peace in this world... only for me, to clear away the toxic webs in my head, & to just slow down the pace of things.