My Ocean’s Dark Histories

It’s funny how I sometimes have to confess a thing out loud in order to move past it. I prefer the page. It is often less vulnerable. I can delete or destroy far more quickly than I compose, but confession? I can’t take that back or float those words into my ocean’s dark histories.

Last week I expelled tears in a combustible series of necessary verbal purges. This had nothing to do with religion, but everything to do with the spirit. I was deliberate in my conversations, pushing words past the inevitable choking block in my throat. Those words were thunder and lighting. The rain was quick to follow from the orbs of a my occipital moons. I swear my brain is a universe. Traversing my emotional-laden memories is navigating a planet-wide jungle.

I had trouble remembering this about myself, even though I was reminding others.

I had trouble remembering this about myself, even though I was reminding others.

I can get lost in my head which is why I always keep an eye to the sun. Heat and light are grounding. I can follow them home even when they are just a warm puff of vapor. But I almost lost my stellar waypoint in the last few weeks. More than once it dipped out of sight, and that’s when I made my confessions. They were like parting curtains or blowing clouds across the sky so I could find my place in the galaxy and keep existing.

I apologize if it seems a bit like I’m in orbit. I have only just landed after a long, unexpected journey. Body trauma has a way of dredging up past trauma. And hardship has a magnetic setting, gathering filaments of trouble to it from great distances with little effort. When it rains, as is said, it pours. And when I cry, I might as well be showering.

I can’t say my well is dry. It has felt good to convulse in honest sadness. With each cry, a weight was lifted. The sun has grown brighter. I am equipped to find my way back to the path I cleared long ago–the one where the sun is always in sight, even if it is behind me. I have learned much on this journey. I was unaware how strong I have become. It’s wonderful to have come out the other side of battle with the calm clarity of warriorship.

Confession, acceptance, peace. That is the flow I have ridden. And while peace is not equivalent to joy, I am pleased to have arrived here.

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