Count your blessings.
The litany starts in my head. I’m angry with you. You’ve hurt my feelings. I don’t feel good enough. I think I’m a failure. Why can’t you just do this? Why can’t you just be there? Why is it always so hard? I wish you would do it this way. I wish you would say that. I wish that it could just be easy. And once it starts, it just keeps going, spiraling deeper and deeper. Then the tears come, gasping, shaking, wrenching.
It’s a cycle that has to stop. Slowly but surely I am pulling myself apart from the inside out. The grip I have on functionality and sanity slide a little more every day. Some days, like today, I’m not even very good at pretending. Other days I don’t think anyone would ever hazard a guess.
Close your eyes and imagine a candle, watch the flickering flame and the wax dripping down. All I see is a knife’s edge with blood slowly dripping off. What is wrong with me? The weight in the center of my chest sometimes feels too heavy to bear. Sometimes, in the darkest moment I can feel the cold, heaviness in my hands. And then I run to the only place that I am safe. He wraps his arms around me and tells me there’s nothing to cry about, he’s just hugging me. I tell him that it’s the only place where I feel safe enough to cry right now. He takes me to bed and holds me, grounds me, saves me once again.
I have to reclaim my own head as my safe place. I need to find the lost peace in my soul. And the only game I know to play is to stop the litany before it starts. If the litany doesn’t start than the tears can be held at bay. I used to struggle with living in my own head. I was always cooler in my head than in reality. I had more friends, more money, a better job. I broke free of it in college, but now I find it creeping back. Only, now I am alone in this desolate space. But I will not let it trap me again. I have the weapon of truth in my hands and I will wield it as best I can.
Count your blessings, name them one by one.