(funny side note... I started writing this post months ago and stopped after this sentence. I didn't see a point of starting a new post, seems perfectly simple to pick up right where I left off...)
I spent a good part of last night staring at the ceiling replaying sentences in my head begging for a waterfall to shut it all up. In fact, it's the only way I finally fell asleep. I pictured myself standing in front of that roaring waterfall, where I couldn't hear anything but rushing water, including my own thoughts. I woke up exhausted and quiet. It didn't go unnoticed.
But even when prompted, my throat closed and my chest squeezed. I can't talk. It's a silence that grips hold of all of my emotions and chokes it shut. I want to say it all, believe me. I want to, I just can't. I wish it was easily understood. The fear that grips a soul, even a soul that is normally shiny and bright with optimism, is real and it's an asshole. It's a liar, but Lord, it's convincing. It's filled with words I've heard before, thought I over came and left behind, but stand in the face of staring them down, wishing them away.
Waterfall...waterfall...waterfall...
I am enough....
Waterfall... waterfall...waterfall...
You're not alone...
Waterfall...waterfall...waterfall...
Escape. Get out. Run.
Waterfall....waterfall...waterfall.
...Breathe...
Waterfall...waterfall...waterfall...
In and out... one step, then the next. Move. Forward. Breathe. Music - loud, loud music.
Time out.
