Recently, I read a snippet of a book dedication that said, "To everyone who thinks I'm writing about you-I am". To me, that line resonated within these weary bones. Maybe it was meant in jest, maybe in love, maybe a wink or inside joke-or maybe...maybe it was the straight up truth. Maybe the author recognized that stranger's could connect and find themselves alive in well written words or maybe it was everyone the writer ever met. Maybe the author realized that every person they ever had an encounter with helped shape them, their being, their essence, their mood, and yes even their writing no matter how small an impact they had.
Currently,I am in between me's. I have one foot shackled to the comfortable, familiar, darkness while the other is toe-tapping in the uncertainty of blinding light. I'm struggling to stay the same and accept the fact that there is a phoenix begging to burst forth from my soul.
'I haven't been writing much lately', is how I would have loved to start today's blog but...that's a lie.
The truth is, I have been writing but most of it is utter rubbish or too 'dark' to share... so I keep it in draft form far away from that dreaded 'publish' button. I wish I could pinpoint why I have been so hesitant to share my struggles with depression and anxiety, but I can't. Or maybe I'm not ready. I don't know.
I do know other people are suffering. They are feeling alone. They mistakenly think they are some freak for shaking uncontrollably while they are anxious or cannot articulate thoughts or think straight, that they're beyond broken for trying to repair themselves with detrimental quick fixes or think they aren't worthy of help or not meant for a happier existence. Hell, not even happier...just tolerable.
But they're wrong.
There are people, like the author recognized, who can find themselves within words, sandwiched between sentences, paused in paragraphs and lost in the literal truth of translation.
So today, today these words are for you...and I hope you find yourself if you've been looking:
You, my dear, are not broken.
You are not lost.
You are not so fucked up that you cannot save yourself, even if that means you have to ask for help from others.
You are worthy of being written about. People will want to scribble your name with hearts on crumpled papers, stitch a sonnet together seamlessly or dedicate a whole nonsensical blog to you.
You, my dear, are a fighter, even when times get tough, even when your soul gets tired, because you are a survivor.
You have made it this far, you have overcome, you have persevered.
I know, you're tired.
But you got this more than you know.
Because you are in between you's too.
You're so tired from all this crap that's eating your happy memories, that's tearing a hole in your soul, that's making you a sad shell of who you once were.
This is where you are in a confused state, a hot mess, this is where you are halted, stuck in between yourselves. It is where you stare longingly at the past, the mistakes and pain, and cringe at the future, fearful of what it holds, and you find yourself tired.
Just so damn tired that you don't know if you want to keep going.
I'm here to tell you it's alright.
It's alright to not want to keep going.
But you will keep going.
So, take this time and take your time.
This is your time to rest.
This is your time to rejuvenate.
This is your time to make a game plan.
This is where you rise my love.
This is where you brilliantly get to scream at the top of your fucking lungs what you will no longer take, what you want, and how you're going to get it.
And you're not going to take anyone's shit, even your own.
This is dedicated to you, the lost, the confused, the ones who think no one is thinking about them or writing about them-we are. Because we need you, we love you and you matter.