wake up call

I had a low-key
pull-the-emergency-break
wake up call recently.

I woke up hungover
my keys
car
ID
debit card
strewn across the city
(the last two irretrievable for days).

A paralyzing moment
where I could finally give
several fears names.
Descriptors.
A bleary clarity.

(I considered hiding it all, telling no one, walking straight into the jowls of shame and self-loathing.)

Instead, I called some friends.
Cringed,
explained everything.

Not one single drop of shame fell from their lips.
Only compassion.
“?!?!??!?!?”s along with me.
Immediate offers of help.

Did I still take a stress nap later?
Oh, heck yeah.

And then
I let myself admit what I was
afraid of.

I’m afraid that if I let anyone see
how fucked up I still am by grief
people will take away
the big dreams I’m running down.

I’m afraid of being vulnerable
and in love with someone again.


I made everything hush.

Took a hot bath
stared down my notebook
(myself)
in candlelight
and confronted
what I had been avoiding.

The realization that I couldn’t answer
“what is love?”
or even list the ways
I accept love.

I had erased all boundaries
in the pursuit of
friendship
acceptance
(aka LOVE)
until my personal belongings
were scattered across a city
and I was literally stuck.

I’ve subconsciously been struggling
with boundaries
valuing those around me
much more than myself.

Not sure if it’s because
I can’t forgive myself.
The darkest shit I won’t
say out loud.

(I feel like glancing over my shoulder just writing this.)


I focused.

Figured out what boundaries
I need to put back up.
How to receive love.
(Game-planned scenarios to help make it happen.)

Focused on my top two values.

Realized one is not greater than the other.

Warmth without honesty is self-betrayal.
Honesty without warmth is disassociation with life.

If a scenario forces me to be
dishonest with myself,
I’m saying no.

Repeating to myself: just because I do something to “help” someone else, doesn’t mean it’s not still self-destructive.

I’m focusing on my center of warmth.
(Including for myself.)

I have a book to finish.
An EP to make.
Relationships to sustain.
Dreams to make happen.

And I may still cry
during my commute every day
because that’s part of
“love,” too.

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