One Day Mountains

It’s so vital that I get my feelings out on “paper.” So important that I get the words right. So important that they are said.  They are spoken.  Written out of my skin.  They pool before me, erupted like arterial blood.

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I get overwhelmed and heartsick.  I could make a list of all the crap I have to worry about.  Weirdly enough, cancer is toward the bottom.  I wish that was all I had to fret over. 

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It’s so scary, getting them out.  They have to be looked at, chewed up, digested, then regurgitated.

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It’s even more frightening to let people see them.  Not so much strangers, but people I know.  It’s a lowering of my carefully-guarded defenses.  I’ve been hurt, and my feelings have been used against me before.  To let people actually hear me speak is like being splayed on a dissection board, pinned, and everyone you know lining up to see what’s inside. 

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But, I do it anyway.  Know why?  For you.  For that person that knows how messy life is.  For the person pretending it’s not messy, but inside, relieved that someone else might feel this way.  For the fellow struggler, the misunderstood, and trying their best.