I’m just going to write, because I cannot help it. ~ Charlotte Bronte
I didn’t really have much to say since last week. But after pouring over quotes (some inspirational, some happy, some sad), I found that I should just write it out. It’s really what I want to do anyway. So please excuse my rambling. I’m just going to write, because I cannot help it.
I love reading. It has always been an escape for me; to just delve into the thoughts and mind of another is the sweetest way to take leave of my reality. And for my birthday, the hubs got me a Kindle. I’ve gotta say, I think that is the single best thing I could have every even thought of wanting, and I didn’t even think about wanting it. Without cluttering up my bookshelf, I can carry around all the books I love so much.
That being said… I’ve got nothing to say and everything to say. My birthday being last week is sorta like a mid-year New Years thing for me. That being said, I took a quick stock of my resolutions and I seem to be on track… with the exception of the marathon thing. I just need to get my ass out on the road. That’s it; just get out there and run. I will. This week.
I also need to go blazing more. Just a little more. As much as I love to photograph, I need to find the time to do it more often. I need me time. That should be a part of it.
My thoughts tend to runaway with me. If any one person could be privy to my thoughts, I think surely he’d find me a little mad. I’ve always thought that if people saw me from the inside, maybe they’d run. Funny, though. Because I am one of the most upfront and transparent people I know. But there is that side of me…
That side has threatened to encroach, more and more lately, into daily life. Not always dark, just blazingly real. And that is odd for me. This part of me, so content to stay in the shadows, has gotten louder and more demanding in the most recent months.
So I’m spending time getting comfortable with this. Understanding what it is that I am really asking of others. Most importantly, what it is that I am asking of myself.
It occurs to me that I should be more comfortable with asking of people. Not demanding, because I don’t do that. But telling people what I need and asking them to help me with it. I should be able to ask of the people I love, and not apologize for it. For too long I have avoided that. I feel like because of the mistakes I have made, I am without the right to be loved.
That couldn’t be less true. I know this.
I don’t believe in saying “do this or else.” I mean, logically, it kinda comes down to that. “Please give to me. I need you.” And if that need isn’t fulfilled, then there will obviously be a shift. Even as I write this, I feel guilty about feeling it and needing it.
What is so wrong with asking that I be loved back? What is so wrong with asking to be let into someone’s life? What is so wrong with asking for honesty and love? And why is that so damned hard for me to ask?
Why do I feel so bad about needing it?
It’s a horrible feeling, to feel so empty. I’ve been slowly losing my composure. I’ve been slowly letting down the facade. Believe me, it isn’t on purpose. But I can’t seem to keep it up, anymore. I can’t seem to smile like everything is okay. I can’t seem to pretend like my heart isn’t breaking. Or that I am not the single loneliest person alive. I cry more lately than I have in 15 years.
I just want to feel like I matter. I want to feel like I’m important. I want to feel like, without me, the world would stop turning for someone. (Side note… I get it. My child obviously ranks in that category. And she counts, believe me. But I’m talking something deeper and with a different meaning than that.) I just want to feel…. something.
I’ll ask. I suppose, now, that is all I am left with.