Shifted

I realized a little while ago, that trying to please everyone is just too much of a task, too much of a burden on how I treat myself. I realized that over the last decade, I have missed, myself. I.

I sit outside under my carport and there is complete silence. Not in my head but I sit here and type as I think, no drafts, no proofreading. I mean after all proofreading? What is that? Proof that I should change my thoughts for others? Evidence that my mental health is fucked? possibly..or is it proof to sugarcoat for others? I write how I feel. I don’t need to do any of the above, how boring.

Self-destruction is a thing that I am used to. Some days I am rough on myself, and nights become open eyes confronting nightmares. Yet when I am in front of others I “switch”. The switch works though, for not only in that moment but just for that little while. AHH! Doorbell! Ding Dong! WAKE AAAHHUUUPPPP! That whisper. That fucking voice or the voices! “why are you acting like there is nothing wrong”…. “huh”? I blink off the jump scare. This is just a hiccup, another slip-up, chip out, pick me up. I’ll be right.

My mouth can speak, my soul can talk. All of the echoes in my mind feel there is nowhere to hide. Fast-tracked visuals of trees feeling the earth on my feet, running. A blue butterfly with black splotches passes by and hangs around. I love you. Magnolia plant moves with the wind, just sitting there not asking wanting, or needing anything other than hydration. Hydration ruined me, I lost a friend in the surf never to soak in the ocean again.

Now for others when I see them swim, my children. Scares me. Something was taken from me. I can’t seem to find it again. Fright? Fear? pain? vein?
Strength is amazing. The sky is clear but filled with disease. Houses put together so closely as I watch upon the others. I wonder, I feel who they are. At the same time leave, same time come home. Same visitors. Life. Do you get scared? No. I am not scared. Some of my PS games, however… OMFG the jump scares make me so scared then in an instant, I feel good. It’s like that poof of air of resistance has left. I try and close that particular air out once it has left. Shut it off. Burn the file.

Pillows with sketches of African women, beautiful. The child’s bike sitting on the wall, wet pavement from hosing away all of the dirt. Dirt. There is a difference between dirt and dirt. I hose away “the” dirt. The real one is the one you feel between your toes.
Sand. Don’t get dirt and sand mixed up.
Sand has a feeling of slight emptiness, struggle, and accomplishment. Sand has fazes. We do. From the time you step your foot on the sand, the feeling is nice. As you walk towards the water the sand feels loose and hot and you tend to walk harder. Your legs and knees go high as you walk down further to the middle of that beautiful beach, the sounds of the waves, the smell of the salted air, you feel under your feet the thickness, solid it somewhat feels…hmmm tight, stressed, you are a little tired. Though you are almost there. Closer to the water.

The sand is semi-hard at this point though it does make you feel somewhat accomplished getting through that loose-end starter.
As you reach the water the sand is tight, your footprints are left yet just to be washed away. Very Sad. With the effort you made to get there, you feel ok as the fresh air slaps you in the face, and you take another deep breath. Quite a few. You feel good.

The journey back is the same journey how you got there, lift your knees and legs at the end, and your footprints are gone. You still have the inner salted-layered lungs.

Dirt is whole. The moment you walk on it it doesn’t change. You walk through the bush what changes? Not the dirt. The environment. You still feel your body. You are still grounded.

Connection.

I’ll let you think and rest on the journey home.