When you get proficient at stuffing your emotions down into a cave so deep, you tend to forget that they’re there. After a while those emotions melt into liquid and figure out how to seep past the rocks you’ve used to block the cave’s entrance. That liquid looks for cracks in the seal and they begin to push through them. It’s sneaky really. You could be going about your business thinking you’ve got such a handle on everything because you’ve gotten so good at manipulating yourself. Then, you’re sitting at a red light just long enough to breathe, and that one perfect exhale allows that build up emotional liquid to finally break through. Suddenly, your eyes are filled with tears. An explosion of memories associated with a thousand feelings bursts all over the inside of your windshield. Blended between gorgeous and hell, the rage of that pent up procrastination of feeling doesn’t give you a choice but to pull the car over.
Screaming seems strange, but also perfect. It’s overwhelming. Where does it all release? How are you supposed to react? How are you supposed to simultaneously feel
fear, passion, heartache, regret, joy, love, hate, thrill, satisfaction,… It’s
impossible. You can’t find a song to match
the energy. You can’t find a space to
feel secure to break free. You’re just
on the side of a road in the middle of no where dry drowning in an emotional breakdown. You can’t breathe, but for the first time you
feel like you’re inhaling and exhaling at a rhythm that doesn’t choke you. Your face looks ridiculous as it transitions
between all those stifled emotions. It feels
like the next choice should be nothing less than being checked into an
institution, because clearly, you’ve lost it.
I have full blown conversations with myself in my head while
I sit on the patio at twilight and watch the lightning bugs start to flash
their little joy all over the lawn. This
past month, I have felt EVERYTHING. I
have made so many excuses to not allow myself my humanity to feel. It hasn’t been convenient and quite frankly, I’ve
been too tired or terrified of what would happen if I gave myself the permission
that I needed to truly accept some of the truths that I have learned not only about
myself, but the world that I’ve created.
I don’t recognize my reflection these days. I have no idea who this person is that has
shown up in Tennessee. She’s
familiar. Her wrinkles are mine. The dimple is mine. But, there’s a new shape to her profile. Her eyes don’t look the same. Even as I write this, it makes me emotional
to admit. This chick in the mirror is
the freest person I’ve ever seen. Solid and
aware. She’s the person I’ve been trying
to be for decades. I’m introducing
myself to her and the convergence of history and future are poetic. I have no idea who I am turning into. What I do know about her is that I’m excited
more than I have ever been to get to know someone. Its hilarious.
My actual life is completely free of chaos. The only chaos that exists is the internal reconciling
with my choices. The emotions I buried that
are now spilling out all over my cheeks feel like a metamorphosis washing the
past away and refreshing my spirit to move without needing any approval. That cave is emptying rapidly and sifting
through each memory associated with all those emotions are being handled and
accepted. I’m going through what I can
only refer to as a period of grief. I’m accepting
that I’m not the same anymore. I’ve evolved. I don’t like saying I’ve “changed” because it
just doesn’t feel robust enough of a verb.
This must be the beautiful mess that I’ve heard about in stories
and songs. There is absolutely nothing
ugly about the safety I feel in my own skin.
It’s funny to me that I feel the need to refer to feeling my emotions as
being a “mess.” I am going to correct
myself right now. This is being me. I feel things deeply, meticulously, irreverently. It’s not fair to call that messy. It’s me.
Good luck trying to keep up with the flow of this post. I needed to write about this in its
rawness. Authentic. This is just a look
into what my brain does frequently. It’s
exhausting, but it’s getting more comforting as I adjust to this person that
showed up in Tennessee. What I know now
that I’ve processed a lot of those emotions is that I don’t want to withhold them
again. This new reflection of mine looks
younger because she’s not holding anything back. I’m not holding anything back. Watch out world…
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