I find myself breaking every day. Every situation I encounter makes me question my approach to life, my decisions, the pull my heart follows. It’s not a call for pity or anything, but I realize that this questioning isn’t letting up. I don’t know what’s right, I don’t know how to know what’s right, I don’t know if I don’t know. I am starting to be driven crazy by the possibility of life. I see it happening everywhere around me, I even see life happening to me, but I do not feel it. I do not feel it because I question it. I’ve been very aware of the fact that I’m turning into that person you know who you can’t listen to for too long, you know the one. That one, yeah.
I catch myself having to remind myself to respond to people talking to me, when I’m sitting there picking apart their words and all the different ways to interpret them, when I’m sitting there thinking about what colors really look like at the very fringes of the color scope, when I’m sitting and thinking and thinking and thinking about point A to point B and all the footnotes inbetween. When will it stop?
I could only hope to write again without an audience. I can only wish that one day I will let go of everything that made me the jaded wordless mess I am becoming, I can only hope that my blinds will suddenly pull back to reveal all my truth, all my potential, all the sentences and paragraphs I lost to my own laziness, my own disrespect to this gift.
Passion is a gift. To find something that pushes you to your limits, breaks your heart, tears you down and rebuilds you, exhilarates and teaches you, that is a gift.
I have been gifted and I am treading water, afraid of finding out that I am insecure, that I am not good enough, that I simply will not do.
I have been gifted and I am wasting time being afraid.