Dear safety net,
Tonight my rabbit hole was just too inviting. I wanted a hideout and bathe myself with those words. The ones that are written all over my skin where even strangers could see what I was made of. I want my skin to soak until the words dissolved into water, diluting into nothing but a mere discoloration. I caught my own reflection and instantly looked away. I couldn’t see me, just words, just ugly words. Worthless, hurt, shame. Shame above all else. Shame was what I landed on when the clothes had been whipped out from beneath me. It looked so foreign to my eyes, so far removed from its past appearances. I feel that I just need a moment to catch up as this speed is just too quick. Too many feelings, too many thoughts, just too much movement at once.
Intersectionality always kicks me every time. It reminds me that I will never have one single experience of feeling shame. Shame works in connection with experiences, thoughts, context, other feelings and therefore cannot possibly be compared or explained to another situation. It hurts most when it pairs itself with unexpectancy. A deadly combination every time. As relatable as it may feel, each of those experiences can only be seen as a byzantine interlink of incomprehensible jargon.
Thank god you were here, safety net. I fear at the depth I may have fallen without you. I see the trees again behind you, I see the hazards that you held from me. Your walls hold me whilst my tears fall, whilst my walls stacks up, whilst I lay still. There are just so many words to come out of me but I have temporarily misplaced my dictionary. Maybe words are not what I am calling out for, maybe that’s why I am drawing such a blank.
My temporary collapse will sit within the spaces of these words and the layers of truths in these bricks. I can see crystal clear that a battle is on the dawn, the reclaiming of territory must be won in my head. But give me time in your embrace, I want you to bear my weight for a moment or two. Another sunrise will eventually come and wake my tired eyes and I will get back up again. I will crawl out of the pit I have made. Let me wash you from my sheets when the suggestibility of your imprint does not knock me to the ground. Battling is the only way I feel myself and I will not let myself find a home in my own shadow. I see the blank page and just need to find a new pen. My brother once told me that “I am a writer and not a reader”. Although at the time he was talking about my career and how he saw me, I know that there is a deeper meaning to his words. I can see the road ahead and it is dark outside. Let me orchestrate my own symphony and I will find my rhyme again.
But for now, hold me close