sometimes I feel like my heart is still a mess. torn to pieces and stapled back together. All my arteries, still hemorrhaging. I can make an attempt to flow away from the past, but it always keeps coming back.
Ive tried to focus forward.. but then I'll hear a certain song, or i'll see a certain piece of jewelry. and I'll remember people, remember sensations, and places. An empty jar, with a faded label. An empty jar, I know should hold something near and dear.. Empty jars that should be filled with joy, but instead their emptiness only brings me bewilderment and disgust. And yet still I am compelled to reach again for another, and label it thusly. With the same dried up ink I used countless times before. Only for it to flake and fade into the ever present past.
The urges I get to let these relics and melodies carry me away, carry me to a familiar place. No matter how dismal, no matter how euphoric. Its hard to resist.
But all I have to do, is roll over and see those graceful shoulders. Pick up the phone and hear the familiar tone in his voice. A man who is pulling me towards my future. A man, who cares for me more deeply than I, or anybody else has dared care for me. He is showing me that I am more than these urges. More than the substances that have carried me far and low.
The idea of a life beyond these gates of servitude to my hungers is frightening. What am I to do with out this overwhelming pseudo need? would I still desire to consume? Will I consume?.. Will I forget these time and time again promises to myself? Or will I truly commit, and then find the contents of my faded jars still just barely within reach under their dusty shelving?
I am unsure of how to function without even the prospect of a game of hide and seek for the sake of acquiring. I am unsure of how to forget what its like to feel electrified, connected, grounded, high. It is unfathomable to me how a person can walk away from the lifestyles Ive lived. After so long, even the jaded become too comfortable to leave.
The reward to vacate this wonderland, is essentially my life. A new life, again. With not just any partner, but the one person who has ever been able to tear my undivided attention away from the lies I have perpetually chased now for nearly a decade. I suppose I was in such desperate pursuit, because whenever I would catch what I was chasing.. my pain, my anger, my angst, my fear, my everything negative would slither away.. even if only for a while.
Sometimes I feel resentment for the Man who sees me, and how he loves me despite my true reflections..I perceive his concern as bias, the worry for my future self as a prejudice to a persona I had worked almost effortlessly to build so strong. And yet, that girl is so fragile. Just the simple whisper of sobriety sends her tumbling down. Its simply that he cares immensely. Genuinely.
Its so terrifying for me to accept that he is not a lie, just like every other empty jar I have kept. All I need to do to reassure myself, is see where he has put himself for me. He has opened his wounds, and his heart and left them bleeding for me. He has sat patiently while I was not nearly myself, and loved me still. nonetheless. He has taken ahold of me and force fed me the blinding beauty and deafening serenity that can be our lives together. Despite this, my self-defiance and fear turns me in circles to the mantra of " I dont deserve this". and then he stops me and says with great certainty; "yes you do". And sometimes I feel myself starting to believe him..
Like a child falling on scabbed knees, again and again. eventually I have come to embrace the fall. And the numbness instead of pain. And the itching instead of the warm trickle from broken wounds. I have thought in the past that all of these things are what built me so strong. But as the love I have begun experiencing has pulled me out of myself, and out of the never ending corridors of falsities . I have come to notice, when I look in the mirror I no longer see strength, but scars.
I cannot say I dislike them. because they unlike the empty jars, will always be filled with memories. they are not deformities, but mile markers in time. Soft raised lines where the roads split, again.
As of the moment of these words spilling from my fingertips, I am at another crossroads. I need to find the new way. And I think he knows which right to take.
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