oldBones

The euphoria of writing here again has been sweet.

But too short lived.

Re-engaging with this blog caused an unexpected and freakish anxiety I could barely contain for three friggin weeks. I couldn’t breathe. My lungs were tight. No air. No reprieve. No release from the madness that fought to control me again. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. But I wanted to. So desperately. I felt possessed. Out of control. My mind on fire. Unable to slow. Constantly racing. My thoughts catapulting from ‘is she reading my blog’ to ‘why do you care?’ to ‘is that why you started writing here again?’ to ‘oh my god, you’re so pathetic’ to ‘ no, you’re good. just write. this is just for you’ to ‘but maybe you shouldn’t’ to ‘fuck that! take your space back!’ to ‘ if you died tomorrow what do you wish you’d told her’ to ‘you were doing so well. don’t digress’ to ‘what if?’ to ‘she told you she’s no longer invested – who says that?’ to ‘but maybe she still cares’ to ‘no! she couldn’t have made it any clearer’ to ‘was this ever really love?’ to ‘she ghosted you for gods sake’ to ‘but she did say maybe’ to ‘she doesn’t love you anymore and she sure as hell doesn’t think about you so just let it go’ to ‘but what if I’m wrong?’ to ‘wow. just fucking wow. you’ve lost your fucking mind.’

Yeah. It’s been an interesting time.

So deep was the anxiety, so real the struggle, so alive the torment and so bitter the shame that I am no longer blind to the crippling truth. But I can not write the words.

Not yet.

I’m not in complete denial. I may have to lie to the world, but never to myself. I know I still have deep emotions and very confused thoughts, but I have found a way to manage them. To stay in the light. To live my life and welcome a new beginning. I didn’t think writing here again would cause them to surface with such a vengeance. Or wrench me full stop, into the past.

This virtual sanctuary is haunted now. Its walls seep a cruel meanness that infects my mind and corrodes the best of my intentions. I feel them closing in. Blocking my progress. Shutting out my natural light. There is a darkness that claws at my tender heart. Pulling me closer to that place of brokenness and eternal unrest. Where the abandoned walk aimlessly, searching out a thing forever lost to them. Their pain branded in the raw tissue of wounds deep and festering and never healing. Love and acceptance their only salvation. But ever just a touch away.

For months now I have woken not thinking of her. She severed the cord as clean as white. She finally had the most powerful last words. I exorcised my demon. Let go of my muse. Released my poetic love. And embraced the wholeness of her truth. It was not by choice, but it set me free. I have not looked back. There was no point. There was nothing left to see.

I was past this. On the other side. And in many ways I still am. Rejection is a harsh but effective teacher. But there is a fog that surrounds me that has never really lifted. An understanding I haven’t quite grasped. And my inner child still weeps for the loss of the dream. There are skeletons here. Old bones that need proper burial. Until I do that I will never be free of this emotional space, this vulnerable place, or her. I know that now. Perhaps, that is why I’ve re-engaged?

For an anxious, fucked up, heartbeat of a moment, I feared I had opened the gates too soon. But I’m good now. The storm has passed. I’m gonna be okay.

Crooked, you will not be my undoing.