Fingers creak over keys, scared to tap deep, scarred from over use, to much truth and the demons hiding under my finger nails. Blink out and suddenly I’m erasable, fully disposable. This is a lie. It has to be a lie, I can’t afford to curl up and almost die, or forget to fly, or wash away the sunny paint that covers my faded dreams and childish need to scream. I do not berate myself for coming undone, for blotchy skin that is a sure sign to tears that I have spent unwisely, loudly, disruptively, selfishly. This to is a lie, and yet it is okay. I will make it okay, I grant myself permission to fall. I give over to the dark and the bad and the never will I ever breath again.
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I wrote that after walking back from my latest exam feeling crushed. Last night after hitting my head against the 'proverbial wall' about my lab, life and slowly I started to come undone. I think it is more likely that I am never really 'done up' but feeling like losing when really, I'm learning.
Yes.
Learning.
I - am - learning.
Not just of physics, and how to unwind strings of numbers or how to predict chemical reactions; however, that's another story for another time. The simple message from all the ranting and tearing covered in poor grammer is that I was hurting. I am hurting sometimes. Sometimes I am undone, or sad, or angry and all these feelings are okay -because I have the key to unlocking them.
See, I am learning, but it would be nice if you could love me anyway
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