Thursday, October 25, 2012
Today I heard a song that helped me “get back up” so to speak. It was “I’m Still Breathing” by Toni Braxton. I’ve had this album forever, but instead of listening to the same 4 tracks, I played them all. When I heard this song, I exhaled deeply. As I type this blog entry, it’s still on repeat. The lyrics are washing over me, reminding me that I am yet alive. The vigor in which I normally approach life has been markedly absent, and if I had to pick one thing that has suffered from my neglect, it would be my writing. Writer’s block is usually my go to excuse when I can’t put pen to paper, but writer’s block would not be the scapegoat this time. I simply lost my passion, my enthusiasm, my get-up-and-go for a lot of things all at once.
I’ve been in a fog it seems without a flashlight fumbling around in stark darkness for months, but today I think may have felt the smallest hint of light. It was cloudy, dark, rainy day today, but somehow that light poked a hole in those clouds just big enough for me to see and more importantly, feel. Light, I haven’t seen or felt in so long, allowed me to see just how bruised I am. My shoulders, slumped, my heart, heavy, my mind, weighed down, my appetite, gone, my smile, gone. Now I was in an abusive relationship before, so I know how to put makeup on a black eye, a busted lip or a purple and blue arm. What does one do though when it’s your heart, your self- esteem, your feelings? What does one do when he or she is fighting against themselves? If you’ve been paying any attention to my YouTube channel, my tweets, or my Facebook statuses, then you would know that I’ve been going through it.
There have been so many hurts in my life, and I think somehow they have all forced me to live my life always on the defensive. I smile a lot because smiles tend to hide a lot especially when one has as many teeth as I do. This morning as I showered, I thought that it would probably be safe to cry in the shower because no one but me would know. My tears would trickle down my face, blending with the water and none would be the wiser. I wouldn’t allow myself to cry then. I just held myself as tight as I could as the hot water erased the tension in my shoulders. I dressed, and used the last of my concealer to hide the dark circles under my eyes. I had some errands to run, and I could feel “it” coming. I made it to my car just in time and I allowed myself one simple luxury. I allowed myself to cry. I cried! I cried! I cried! It wasn’t a cute cry either it was undignified, unsightly and ugly right there in the Target parking lot. My body felt as though it merely collapsed against my steering wheel. I couldn’t do anything except grip the steering wheel and hold on for the ride finally letting go would take me on. What started as a controlled sob turned into ghastly sounds I still can’t begin to define. I thought the tears would never stop, but they did eventually. I sat in that parking lot for hours. I thought if I got “it all out, I wouldn’t have to bring it back in my house again. I guess being strong takes its toll and it beckons those of us who think we’re strong to relish in being in a weakened state even if it’s just momentarily. Crying today didn’t mean I was weak, it meant I’m alive. I’m not at all sure what God does with our tears, but I can’t wait to see how He recycles mine.