She said, “Do you think you could?”
And I said, “Yeah, yeah in a second”
We’re sitting by a waterfall
And when the people jump in
They hold their nose
And kiss these walls
Granite walls, water-polished walls
Jane’s Addiction – Slow Divers
I’ve finally started chapter one. And after only a couple of pages in, I was underwater.
She said I was in the deep.
She’s right. I feel like I’m too deep. My dive was from too high. I didn’t think this through. My held breath won’t last to the surface.
Is this part of the process or a consequence of the foolhardy? Is this a test? A right of passage? Where’s the lesson, the meaning?
What if this chapter is just the death throes of a life-long series of bad choices?
It’s brutally humbling to be stripped of identity. It’s surreal to willingly tear away layers of my life that took years to form. The worst part is sitting with myself. The hater is so loud now. He howls with glee and rattles my insides. His form and presence revealed more than ever. I thought I understood. I had no idea.
I don’t know how to overcome him. He keeps getting stronger.
I admit this not out of self pity, not for sympathy. A monster a has wreaked havoc between my ears. His tentacles have wound tightly into the deepest parts of my mind. Even as I hack at them, they grow back.
I’m afraid. I’m afraid that if I don’t figure out a way to thrive, I will not be able to care for my son. I’m afraid that being this vulnerable will only alienate me from those I love, and ultimately, from love itself.
I wish my obstacles and limitations were tangible. I can climb a mountain. I can forge a river. I can lose an eye, an arm.
The mind is a ghost.
I find that when I’m vulnerable, when I take risks emotionally, when I decide to take an open stance instead of a closed stance, when I offer my hands instead of close them into fists, good things come.