I have too much free time on my hands here, therefore, I write.
My days are spent talking, often without any reply. Talk, talk talk. Listening comes in ninety minute intervals, twice a day, but there is no conversation. I yearn for petty inquires on the weather; I ache for awkward small talk about sports, television, anything at all, so long as it doesn’t scratch the surface. Anything that doesn’t go deep and pull out the pain. But this is how we heal. We spill our secrets into the center of the circle then set them alight. They burn and then they’re out, they’re gone, and this is meant to heal. I suppose it averts any further trauma caused by holding on so tight (or such is the intention), but how does it help the damage that’s already been done? How do we fix what’s been broken for so long?
Maybe the trick isn’t fixing it at all. Maybe we’re meant to learn to live with these past hurts, meant to find a way to push them down and block them out. Accept that it’s part of us. Learn to cope. Only certain mechanisms are acceptable, of course, that’s why we end up here. This is a pessimistic outlook.
The time I spend thinking on this is too much already.
I wanted to write something happy when I logged in. I wanted to try and find positives in a week that doesn’t have many. I wanted to look forward enough to be past all of this. I wanted to find the brightness and hold onto it.
I have a lot to look forward to. I have things I want to do with myself, big things and little things. I wish I could get there faster, because I am tired of living like I have been. I want more. I want better. Change is coming. Change… is hard. But it's coming.
I'm 13 days closer. I'll get there someday.
Someday.
