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It has been seven breathtaking months. Nothing makes sense. There are agendas, so many plans, things to look forward to. I am looking forward.

I miss travel, working. There is a comfort to the constant change of scenery, the anonymity of airports and hotels where I can disappear or perhaps, it is where I can hide from myself. There is no hiding here. I don’t know that I want to hide from myself exactly. I’m so sick of myself and being in my head, and letting my thoughts run wild and undisciplined.

I long tried to make my body into a fortress but it is not a fortress. It is not impermeable. Neither is my heart. I am human. I’ve long known this but now I know. I have all this time to think and so I start with the way things are and then begin to unravel circumstances into my worst fears, poking at the tenderest parts of myself. (…)

I despise feeling weak and needy. I despise being anything but fiercely strong, excellent, the provider, emotional or otherwise. I’m trying to adjust to having to be the one who needs and cannot give nearly as much in return, for the duration of this injury. It scares me because what if it’s all too much? This is a broken record.

This is what happens when a control freak loses ALL CONTROL.

I am supposed to be learning something from this so I also spend too much time trying to discern what the necessary lessons are. I look back on my life and think, haven’t I learned enough already? (…)

Faith. I must go on faith right now. I must trust what I know to be true in my blood and bones. I know what is true. I do.

Roxane Gay

listening while reading: The Ditty Bops – When’s She Coming Home

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