Tag: spilled milk
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Unaffected, Unmoving, but Able.
I’ve felt very quiet. As if for the first time, my surface wasn’t rippling. No longer altered by the actions of another. Still. And as I wait, it’s as if, for the first time, I realize I too can move myself. That the surface of me is under my control.…
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I want my life to be my own.
I fear that I am my greatest antithesis. Others can, and have, caused issues, but as I get closer to peace, I always find myself as the final obstacle. Peace is not a thing I’m great at. Facing one’s trauma is one thing, but unlearning the negative parts of yourself…
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To find an equilibrium of care and progress.
I’m trying to be considerate of myself. I may feel better, but I am not my mind alone. I’ve never been considerate of my body. That my body is also me, not simply something I occupy, and it needs to heal as well. It’s been exhausting; I’ve been exhausted. But…
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Never alone in the woods of all.
Harm is interesting. It has the power to define a person, but can also be rendered to a story alone. I was certain all that had happened would define me. And, though I still believe a hereditary madness is desperate to claim another of my line. For the first time,…
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Live a life I’d be proud of.
I found my mother’s cards. The ones she sent to me when I left for college. When I thought I had left for good. They’ve all begun to fade. All of them, but one, were repurposed from cards she saved over the years. Some old birthday cards, graduation cards, and…
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Document the burden I carry to set myself free.
We met in class. During the second semester of my disconnect, Your tightly coiled hair that danced down your shoulders. You smile. We decided to partner up for an in-class exercise. I still think about how you picked me that day. Your hand tapping my shoulder. Your eyes. I think about…
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If there is no I, I’ll find peace with that as well
As of recent, I’ve been thinking a lot about self. When bad things happen, I often lose myself. I am preoccupied by fear. Too burdened by survival to live. But once I begin to slow, once I regain control, another concern takes hold. A fear of self. The weight of…
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you’d be who I miss the most.
I worry at times that you don’t know how much I care for you. I know if I said that you’d promptly tell me to “shut the fuck up” in likely kinder words, so understanding, but I still worry. I’m not great at showing my feelings, especially recently. Opting for…
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More than a sorrowful soul
I have found the focus on moments to be a positive practice. Much has gone unconsidered and ignored. I hope to live a life free from these events, but I also selfishly can’t allow them to go completely untold. They need to become something. Have been for something. Some punishment.…
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no guilt in letting it grow
For a long time, I felt highly emotional. Not many saw that side of me; I learned to hide it, but I didn’t feel a self outside of how I was feeling. At times, still, if the emotion is too heavy, too strong of a wave, it takes me under.…