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The in betweens

I started to love myself in the in betweens,

I loved myself while i was struggling,

To get a job, or to live a life fully, or just complex emotions,

I wanted to live this life for myself and I feel like I am. When I loved myself, I didn't feel alone and abandoned anymore.

I no longer blamed it on me

I let the pain enter, and as Rumi as kept my gaze on the wounded place

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People pleaser...

I couldn't search anymore, I was lost and I couldn't find myself. I was illusioned and worried, and I tried to please and please but I was dead.

I drowned and became no one, while somewhere the real me was waiting for me to pop up like a firefly in a dark forest. I know i was right there but I had to stop being someone else for me to be me.

I am afraid of being the real me, I didn't want to upset others. I didn't want to make them feel uncomfortable.

But what about me? My soul is not made for this and on that night when I was returning in car pretending to be enjoying wind, tears washed over my cheeks, pain and pleasure swept over me. I cannot do it I said, I cannot be. I have to be me.

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Writing prompt:

Write about how you feel that it's December and the year is ending.

I was someone who felt

When december came, my heart overflown with emotion, like a river with no end. I still didn't know who I was, nor the time asked me if I was ready. Because ready, I was not.

I attached myself to the praise, to the glory and victory but it was nowhere to be seen.

I sat on a perch of a bark, in the cold, looking at all that has passed but I couldn't imagine what was to come.

Sometimes I shone so delicately like the north star in the darkness, and other times I was the dark sky dipped into misery. All I could really find was that the peace was inside of me.

I sang for myself simply because I loved to sing but I didn't know that at the time. What a blasphemy! Little by little I heard my own songs, I heard my own cries, I was in need.

I needed Me. That's all my songs ever told me.

I thought I was a pretty melodious poet, or the one who paints the landscape, alas I was not who I read. I couldn't find myself when I read through the pages, it was only when I ever wrote.

Perhaps I wasn't truly the paintings I enjoyed or the poems that set my heart on fire. I was something different than that, and it wasn't easy. All I ever knew was that I was someone who felt.

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I dreamt that I was writing

The grey cat called 'nimbus', which meant a dark gray cloud sat beside my bed,

Those nights of darkness outside, too cold to peek out of the balcony to look at the sparkly friendly stars above me. Time has seemed strange on the winter days, blurry and dusty and sometimes full of alarm and chill.

I thought I couldn't write anymore because I thought I would take care of myself, but here I was dreaming that I was a writer, that I was writing. I was dreaming that I was painting. What a torment it seemed in my reality, because those things ended up happening only in my head. Every bone in my body felt drawn towards it, yet I stumbled, I hesitated. I convinced myself that it was okay, that it was fear. But what about the after fear?

Does fear make you stay at once place, one hell of a fear it is then.

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Thought of the day

Your passion shouldn't cost you your happiness. If anything, it should add to it.

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We have been slaves to the voices one time or the other.

“Don’t ever fill Silence and Empty Spaces with Evil Voices and Useless Objects respectively. one will Infect your Mind, The other will Make You A Slave.”

— A Abraham (via fy-perspectives)

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“You’ll meet a hundred different people who will describe you in a hundred different ways, don’t dwell too much on the kind of impression you make. Remember, there are a thousand paintings of the sun, but only one that rises and sets each day.”

— Ekta Somera

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My thoughts decieved me once again, said being a deep feeler was a curse, that my intensity made me so different that I couldn't understand myself. Once again they told me you aren't confident enough, emotionally stable enough, that some of my what could be strengths were always going to be my weaknesses. Being intimate with thoughts was like sipping poison.

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"What is to give light must endure burning"

- Victor Frankl

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Lately I have been thinking about death.

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Lesson I am learning this October 2021

I could dream big as much as I wanted to, aim for the stars while lying on the streets, but nothing is really worth neglecting myself, my feelings and my mental health. NOTHING, proves to be good enough to sacrifice yourself,z because amidst all the chaos, you realize, you are much more important than your dreams and goals, even though they inflame you, you cannot let them burn you, rather toast your marshmallows with just enough distance so they keep you warm and cozy inside. Your dreams are nothing without you, you were the one that gave birth to them.

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Anxiety and human connection don't go hand in hand. I am stroking my cat, with all its hazel lines curled under my fingers and still couldn't feel the life so close to me. You could be talking to me about something funny, my mind is blurred and I force a smile. I try to connect with someone inside me of me, a self. But it feels like she has gone on a vacation, so I am here taking care of her messed up house. All I know is that she will come back. It may take days, or few secs or a month. She will come back.

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“The hardest battle you will ever have to fight is between who you are now and who you want to be.”

— Unknown

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When you feel like you can't enjoy the breeze swirling in the trees, or smell the autumn air around you, it's because you are feeling something stronger inside of you, an emotion that needs to be heard. You are experiencing the beauty but not feeling it, its because you need to feel what's weighing you down first. Then the spring will appear.

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