Where Is the Road Out?


          Why am I afraid of talking about the entity that so struggles for its influence on my day to day life and fights relentlessly for my life in its entirety? The very things I spend the majority of my time, thought, and energy managing are the very things I won’t talk about- or apologize every third sentence and pepper it with positivity- doing myself no favors. Its easier to avoid the subjects altogether, with anyone. Yet of the various issues tirelessly running through my indistractable mind, I’ve concluded that my longstanding approach of telling my experiential emotions to “sit back, shut up, and no one one cares”- hasn’t proven its efficacy. Most matters in my life have turned out to be no different. The issues only fester and grow.

         Only recently have I come to the realization that since I was a small child I’ve subjected myself to this continually unchallenged notion that my emotions and pain are only valid if others allow them to be. How can I not see that my feelings and reality are valid regardless of others’ invalidation, down playing, relative comparison, or downright unqualified positions to make such conjecture to something outside of themselves? I mean really see and act in accordance!

           Yet fighting this necessity, there never fails to be some “conscious” individual with the obligation to remind me of the self fulfilling prophecy, placebo effect, laws of attraction, meditation and epigenetics, or the quantum implications of talking about anything dark or negative. Yet pain and darkness is such a pervasive part of my life everyday, of which I wrestle with additional shame regarding “how are you” and “what are you up to”s.          This still very much includes conversations with myself. 

           I always wake up with the intent to do better and try harder, but hate myself when my best doesn’t seem like enough to bring any consequential change in my life. I’m the most familiar with just how much shit I deal with on an hourly basis, yet continue to have the least amount of compassion for myself of most anyone. Yet where the hell is the line between healthy optimism and being an asshole to myself?  I’m ever telling myself the same mantras, guilting myself into action and shutting the vulnerable child part of myself in the closet (and then I wonder why I’m awful with kids). 

             I don’t know what else to do with that half of myself because it’s been around for so long without quieting or resolution.  The harsh, judgmental, bordering on psychopathic part of myself, I reserve solely for myself- the beaten, defenseless, lonely part of me that ‘s been in pain for over a decade- the part I spend so much time hiding from everyone. The part that no one has ever actually seen for exactly how it is. 

I’m in an abusive relationship with myself and I don’t know how to get out.  

No fucking bullshit positivity today. I’m endlessly thinking, trying to figure out how to get out of it-  all of it.

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