May 12, 2020

Me too, Madeline Kahn. Me too.

I’m tired of running.

I’m tired of longing and not letting myself want.

I am tired of believing untruths that make me feel awful: that I’m broken and need saving or fixing, that you can fix me, or that can fix me, or I can fix me; that I’m not trustworthy and life is not trustworthy.

I am so tired of pushing away love, joy, and pain because they feel like they will destroy me. They will destroy me. I’m tired of not allowing myself to be destroyed.

I’m tired of clinging to beliefs, ideas, situations, desires, pain, and story as means of identity. I’m tired of being afraid of losing myself, as though the self I actually am could ever be lost.

I’m tired of searching for the answer.

I’m tired of trying to control everything: me, you, the universe. I’m tired of the impulse to “perfect” (v.).

I’m tired of trying—trying too hard, and trying not to try.

I’m tired of feeling like I’m on the verge of living instead of actually living.

I’m tired of being afraid of fear, mine and yours.

I’m tired of caring about stuff in an exhausting way: what I say, what you think, whether I’m enough, if I’m doing life right or wrong.

I’m tired of feeling like I have to pretend to know what I’m doing.

I’m tired of making things complicated.

I’m tired of being afraid to hurt or being afraid to hurt you. I’m tired of blaming life for my pain as though I’m not supposed to have any.

I’m tired of feeling stuck in my head.

I’m tired of wanting this to all to change in an instant.

I’m tired of being human and not letting myself fully be consumed by what that means. I’m tired of not letting life touch me. I’m tired of living distracted so that life can’t reach me.

I’m tired of a lifetime of suspecting it’s time to let go, perched on the edge of the abyss, and desperately clinging on for dear life, as though desperate clinging were life itself.

I’m tired.

I want to jump. I want to wake up.

Let’s face it. Everything below AND above the waist is KAPUT. I’m DONE.