“The past is a curious thing. It’s with you all the time. I suppose an hour never passes without your thinking of things that happened ten or twenty years ago, and yet most of the time it’s got no reality, it’s just a set of facts that you’ve learned, like a lot of stuff in a history book. Then some chance sight or sound or smell, especially smell, sets you going, and the past doesn’t merely come back to you, you’re actually IN the past. It was like that at this moment.”
― George Orwell, Coming up for Air
i am grateful, I am loved, and I am most certainly okay (thank you, I needed this last night)
I just need to go around chanting that, I believe. a mantra if you will, lol.
I really need to come up for air. I need that - especially the smell, the one that takes me back to the past. I want to smell home, I want to go home, I want to know where and who is home, I want to go back to times where I felt myself, where I felt like I had invigorating things waiting for me. where I felt loved and cared for, appreciated. I have hopes that someday i'll be cherished.
I had a taste of the past rush back to me recently - someone commented on my writing. it's been a long while since i've blogged on the interwebs. I had a situation as a teenager, on one of the earlier blog sites. I had something traumatic happen to me. i let those feelings out and eventually, after a suicide attempt, my parents found my blog and printed it out and dropped it off at the police station. they kept it as evidence, for questioning, until I finally felt strong enough to go and sign it out and have my words back. it felt good to have them back in my hands after they were ripped away and taken from me without my consent.
anyway. his comments - i'd not heard in years for my writing. he said to find something that i'm good at. he reminded me that i might not think that exists but it does - he's right - i'm not always organized and have my arms wrapped around everything - nothing is ever perfect, but I am good at many things that i've started to try to enjoy again.
I started with making a collage on my written journal (I'd been writing in it but I was scared to make it my own, with the fear that I'd have to stop writing again, plus identifiable as mine felt to be too intense) - I don't remember the last time in my life that I haven't had to worry about someone taking my words - using them against me, dropping them off at the police station, someone else reading something that maybe doesn't make sense to me but most certainly does for me. I made it beautiful, with a lot of things that encompass myself. i've had this notebook for 10 years, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to make it something I could have for myself. I have written babblings, blessings, pages of quotes I love, pages of lyrics that touch my heart, dirty deeds I have dreams of, fantasies I'd love to live out. letters to people that they'll never read - people from the past and present. I started with the journal out of all the other things because I need reminders of what good I DO have, so there's a page for everything and everyone i'm grateful for. he said I need those reminders of the good things. and I know I do, especially on the days that I wish that "home" meant death and that i'd fall asleep and just not wake up.
next - I have lists of projects. I miss sewing, embroidery, latch hook, woodburning, reading, working on Legos with my boys, puzzles, painting a bit - enough for it to be legible, lol. I have a few of these projects already started, just need to get back to them again. back to a happy me. I have new projects that I won't start on yet - learning something new feels overwhelming in addition to already learning to self tie but soon, i have hopes that i'll feel ready to learn even more new things that I have stored, just waiting.
i'm breaking up with the current therapist tomorrow and I believe that I have a new one already lined up.
i'm working on eliminating stressors and focusing on these words:
thank you, for seeing me stranger, wherever you are <3
and for a self tie that I am perfecting - its odd - the feeling of safety, feeling of being held even though i'm not. when I have time, it's been my safe haven thus far:
