I hate this.
This continued conversation I come back to. Taking this meta-focused approach of writing about how painful the writing process become and to wearily replete the page with a sincere apology for the indiscretion of not arriving sooner.
I hate this is the only way I know how to return to this process though my brain fills to the brim with words left unsaid. My hands freeze now every time I return to writing, be it personal or professional, this feeling of impending emotion begins to overtake the reminiscent pleasure I used to receive from putting my hands to the keys. It feels strange as if I am faced with an invisible wall that I am scared to touch because it will hurt me, or that when looking at the page that some invisible hands begin to squeeze my heart.
I hate them for all this pain and strife I’ve encountered as a result the trauma they have inflicted upon me. This inability to escape from this shadow they have placed me under, no matter how illogical this may be.
And I hate myself for letting these wounds seep in deep and scar because of my fear, doubt, and pain. I speak to healing but never allow myself the space to return.
It’s been difficult because every time I don’t quite make it to putting my thoughts on the page as it adds one more to my list of failures. The wall of returning becomes greater and greater until I stand before mountains made of the mind. To speak of being able to do and then looking to the mountain I need to climb and I am disheartened.
Though I return to the space of needing to be compassionate to myself. Just like the act of physical therapy or attempting to get strong, the expectation that I should return from a prolonged break or hurt without the need to build back this muscle slowly is problematic. Though this may seem simple and obvious to some, the practice of it is harder than it seems.
What I need to do this slow again, and find myself in the words that used to call for me. Spend time but be okay with retreating a few paces to give me the space to grow again. I need to heal and more fully acknowledge the effect of the wound on my heart. “Start slow”, I have to tell myself, “but be consistent”. It’s okay to write a little as much as it’s okay to write a lot. Just be consistent, and remember your audience, me.
I hope then I can find that solace in these words and upset the upset in my heart. For now, it’s just a step, and one small step, one after another, and I will find myself in having traveled to where I want to be in no time. Just keep walking.