Finding One's Self is Like Giving Birth...It Fucking Sucks.

When the chance comes to fight or flight, what do you end up choosing?

My usual? Run.

My current situation? Cornered, so I am forced to fight.

And I am getting my ass beat.

But it’s ok because I am learning a few moves and soon I will come out of this as a warrior.

Yeah. I’m getting deep here. Go with it.

These past couple of weeks have been brutal. Hell, the past couple years have been brutal, but this more so. Maybe it’s finally time. Maybe this is the point in life where I am so fed up with letting myself get beat up that I stand up and say, “Fuck you. This is my life and you are not going to be the one to define me or my happiness”.

Easier said than done.

I recently stated the following: “Finding clarity and purpose is a lot like giving birth. It fucking sucks, hurts a shit ton, everyone is crying (mainly you) and you think you are going to die because you don't see an end to it. All you can do is pray that after all of it you get something beautiful, healthy and strong that will last a lifetime...”

Yes. I feel like I am absolutely giving birth.

I feel like I have said this before, but that was just false labor.

This is the real deal, folks. And if not. I’m out. I am not sure how much more of this “false labor” I can handle. Like, I am serious when I say it sucks.

Maybe it’s because I am home all day alone working…with nothing but a cat that smells like farts whom I have diagnosed with schizophrenia. There is something maddening about the same four walls everyday. I’m not saying I am suicidal, but I am getting quite certain I should not be left alone for any long periods of time right now.

Maybe it’s cabin fever. Maybe it’s just a case of claustrophobia, but I am telling you, these walls are caving in. And I keep feeling this heaviness…like a true physical heaviness on my shoulders. A weight I decided to carry that I really should not have. The only time it is alleviated wholly, even for a short time, is when I am texting Kalene the things I am not supposed to text others. Maybe my issue is I am concerning myself with other people I should not.

Step one: Breathe.

It’s hard to breathe when you are holding your breath for someone. I have been holding my breath for 2 years now (add about four months to that…I am a repeat offender in these matters, apparently). I am not sure why I feel like I am always waiting for someone. Always waiting when I never used to give a fuck. In fact, I was so lost in my own world I forgot about other people. Not selfishly, but definitely not in the sense where I need to hear from someone to be complete. That’s not me. And that’s not healthy. And I know it, so I am trying to let some people go. And though I have been trying to cut ties, some ties you don’t want to break no matter how much they are hurting you.

Step Two: Find comfort in yourself.

It’s hard to find comfort in yourself when you look for comfort in others. I miss the way the Tall Pretty One would hold me, Yes, I confess it. I loved the way he made me feel loved. He would hold me and kiss me so sweetly that I forgot how much I loved being loved. And he opened up a small wound from a long time ago, when I knew what it was like to feel loved. And then the Tall Pretty One, one I didn’t care much for nor did I want much to do with, broke down my walls and held me like I had so longed for. And I fell for it. Hook line and sinker. And I lost myself.

Not that I wasn’t already lost, but I was on the cusp of finding more of myself. I thought I was strong enough to be ok with what we had. But I wasn’t. I wanted to be his everything because I felt worthy of it. Instead I was just his something, and that wasn’t good enough for me. So I had to let it go. And it hurts. Especially since there wasn’t much of a fight, short of a “good riddance” from his end, and tears from mine. Now it’s time to fill the hole he left with love from myself…though never did such a hole seem so deep.

Step three: Listen.

Listen to everything. Your heart, the words of friends, music…your soul. Your soul is always searching for the best of you, so when you suffocate it, you lose it. I suffocated it with insecurities and a yearning for that feeling I would get when held just right, or when that text was finally answered and that lust was finally met. Instead of listening to the agony it would cause later, I only dealt with the needs of needing comfort. I used to find comfort in alcohol, so then I started finding it in someone else. Now the true test is finding it in myself. Currently, my heart is a vacuum and to look inside myself for that is maddening, so I have turned to friends.

Never in my life had I ever realized the resource of amazing people in my life. I have complained so often of the horrible people in this town, but what I haven’t listened to are the amazing souls who have been there for me. Those who have seen this struggle and have been watching me give labor to whatever it is I have been laboring over. Tonight alone some of the most amazing people I have ever met in my life offered me words of wisdom beyond my scope. And maybe if it were them I would have good advice, but because it is myself and I am blinded by this struggle, I wouldn’t know how to listen if I offered.

Music is my everything. I may not be a musician, but I know that I could never live without music ever. So I turned to my music guru for help. I also turned to my spiritual guru for help and lastly, those fighting this same struggle with me.

On Saturday I listened to Birds on Fire play their last show in town. I didn’t know what to expect and while uncomfortable, sober and ready to leave, their last song grabbed me and sat me back in my seat and told me to listen. So I did.

And never was I more grateful.

This is what I saw when I closed my eyes and listened:

“I was the leader to a pack of warriors. In this vision most of them were girls…my girls, but all of us were warriors charging to the heavy beat of a drum. We came upon a dark castle, something like Lord of the Rings. As the drums beat faster and got heavier and the rest of the band joined, my warriors and I were on the castle, destroying everything dark and horrid about it. It was mostly men, being beaten and cut down by me and my worriors. It was a pure blood bath. I continued to lead the pack and the men began to fall like flies, dirty and bloody, dying all around. It was a massacre. A beautiful massacre of the dark things that consumed us. And as the music crescendo'd into what felt like the climax, I plunged my sword into the chest of the man I stood on, ripped out his heart, held it in my hand and took a large bite out of it. With a scream of triumph, the music took us to the top of the tower where we all stood, looking back over where we came from. Behind us dark ominous clouds, but before us a clearing. We just needed to get there so we stood on the edge and on our backs, huge magnificent wings sprouted and burst from us and the pain was excruciating yet blissful. They grew over ten feet and were magnificent, so we jumped and our wings took us up higher. They flapped and flapped as the music took us soaring and coasting, tears in our eyes as we finally felt the freedom…we took back our hearts and now we were free to fly towards something beautiful and almost holy. And we just flew, and soared and we owned the sky and everything around us. We were free and ahead there was so much glory, it was almost unfathomable. So we just kept going towards it…we just went”.

And when the music stopped and the boys in the band embraced one another, I left quickly. I wanted to run out and keep running until I too took flight and soared out of this god-forsaken town. Instead, buzzing from the night I went to get a movie and some food. It was rather anti-climatic, but I was so afraid of being alone with nothing to do but think, I felt I had to get a distraction.

Step four: do.

It’s one thing to say it, it’s another to do it. I used to be afraid to say how I felt for fear of judgment, but currently it seems there are more people on my side and fighting this fight than I ever thought possible. Some of the responses I get bring me to tears. When you bare your soul, it’s hard to imagine anyone else understanding. Then when others find comfort in your struggles because they are struggling too, you cannot imagine the gratitude.

So I write. That is what I do. That is what I was always meant to do. I am not sure why or what for. I am not sure why I am breaking myself down to its rawest form, but I am. And I don’t really know why I quit drinking, I just did. And now, here I am. Fighting to stay alive every single day. Some moments are excruciating and they scare the fuck out of me because I sometimes think my mind will be my ruin. Writers and thinkers are always looking for contentment, but in the end that is impossible because that would mean becoming complacent and a true thinker and writer is most uncomfortable in their comfort.

One day when my work is done and in a cover, I will be happy. But not just happy because I have found comfort in my success, but because more doors will open and I will be forced to find more things to write about. And that absolutely thrills me.

So until then, I am trying do all that I can to keep my sanity, which currently has not been easy. I don’t like putting my struggles up on my blog because I don’t want people to see a snapshot of my emotional life and think that that is all I am. I am loving, happy and all too willing to go out and have fun. Currently I am sad and hurt and am trying to find myself in my sobriety and my solidarity. Never were two feats more harrowing. But if I can conquer this…if I can out live this, I am pretty fucking sure I will never be stopped…the truest of warriors. A warrior who put their life on the line to maybe save someone else…