I was always hesitant about writing again.
I had done an impeccable job building a wall around my emotions that I forgot what it was like to feel again. To express myself through a means of writing. I let the pressure build up to the point where I would be right at the moment before combustion but never explode.
Without a doubt, I was capable of feeling. But to openly put it into words? I was mute.
I guess I was tired. Exhausted, actually. But I was also afraid. I knew that drawing upon past feelings and experiences would be triggering. I know myself and I know that my mind would linger. I would stroll on the road of what if even though I knew it was a dead end. Snapshots of Memory Lane became a neverending rerun and I knew it would disturb my peace.
But what I failed to realize back then was that I need to be in peace with my past. In order for me to leave this road, I needed to accept the lessons that I learned and apply them onto the paths I will be taking.
Easier said than done, obviously.
Some demons are more powerful than others… Sometimes the biggest demon is your own fucking self – and that was something else I had to come in terms with. My depression anchored my mentality and thoughts to rock bottom and I was too tired to even try and uplift that. My mind was an infinite white noise in a crowded room of conversation and I just wanted to fucking turn off the program.
So I did. I turned off my ability to release my mental commotion. I turned off my ability to feel light. I turned off my ability to love. I conditioned myself and adapted to this coldness so that I wouldn’t feel vulnerable again. However, I grew tired of feeling nothingness and I wanted to remember what it felt like to be bigger than myself.
So I decided that this would be my first step.