A letter alone...

Such a familiar friend... I am again... alone. The auto-pilot function that so often helps me survive the changes in life has quietly subsided and the process of acceptance and grieving has taken its place. Grieving of lost love... dreams... security...

Tears are readily available day after day. An emotional outpour that I wanted to believe were just hormones, but are now a regular part of my state. I walk through my daily tasks with lead weights on my feet and still manage to accomplish my checklist, yet lay my head down unsettled. I see news to be celebrated all around me and all I can do is cry wondering when I will have my own day that my soul dances... a day to be celebrated.

A lesson in selfless love... genuinely celebrating those you love while quietly mourning my own wants and dreams... And that's all they feel like... dreams... empty... failed dreams...

The volume cranks on memories I have set aside and locked away when the rest of my life feels empty and lifeless. Memories that make me angry... bitter... sad... joyous... loved... loving... What I would give to feel pure uninhibited joy and love for just a moment. A simple reminder that I can still feel those things... and I can still have those things... and that I am not alone.

45 minutes is only 45 minutes I chanted. Was I trying to convince those I love or myself? I feel like 45 minutes is 45 too long from a warm embrace around me... a simple how do you do... a friendly, familiar face... a moment to exchange the latest with the people you miss everyday.

Is this what you wanted for me Lord? To be okay just being with me... and You? Because I don't feel okay. I feel the warmth of my tears filling my eyes... the escape of angst rolling down my cheeks. I truly felt like I was following your lead... but now I feel misguided and bemused by myself.

Beauty for ashes... I am reminded. And I covet the days I celebrated the freedom I felt once I trudged through the shame of my past. I struggle with trusting You now... feeling You now... Instead I feel forgotten. Remind me that You are here... that You have promises that are yet to be fulfilled for me. My spirit is heavy... my vision foggy... my ears muddled... Make Yourself known in Your peace and comfort.

I have all these voices in my head telling me I am not good enough... I am not lovable enough... I am not enough... Why else do I fail every time I pour out my heart and soul? What words should I hold onto and ponder deep in my heart to be loved?

I know these are not Your desire for me. But these voices vex my soul and can make even the most absurd lie sit like tar in my spirit. Sinister lies that find a path into my heart and create bitterness, jealousy, and paranoia.

Replace the lies Lord with the truth that I am Your beloved daughter... Loved by a King... Cherished for intrinsic beauty that was by Your design. That I am lovable just as I am... that I do not have to try. That You celebrate and are amazed by me daily. I am tired... so tired... so drained... so disappointed... so heartbroken. Mend these wounds and gashes in my tender heart. I have nothing left... no more energy to pick myself up.

I pray... as I cry myself to sleep once more... Hold me in Your hands and never let me go.

Writer's Block

There is no more beauty in these words... so I cower to prose. A simple letter to myself. But remembering how much I felt that even words in prose offered me so much comfort. Made me feel understood... even if written just for me. To organize the jumbled mess of emotions and thoughts stirring in my mind. Writing offered a way to slow the words down just enough until one jumped into my fingers and then onto the screen.

I want to WRITE! I want to love what I write again... I want the words to flow down in a wondrous pattern that paints a magnificent beauty of what could only encapsulate a glimpse of what I am feeling... but still, this made me feel alive!

Even when I read the harvest of the last several years... I feel I am reading the same thing over and over again. Same parallels... same sentiments... same color... same metaphors. Where is my creativity?

Sometimes my best writing came after a few (or more!) glasses of wine. No wonder artists are raging lunatics, alcoholics, and drug-induced talent. It's like it unlocks this little door that says, "Hey! Nothing you write down right now needs to make sense... you have a perfect excuse. So just write down all the nonsense and in the morning you will find it a sobering moment when you realize there was still beauty that came from a drunken moonlit night."

But I don't want that... No... I want the true inspiration. The inspiration that awakens this sleeping giant within that says, I must write this down... I must remove my ego and let all this goodness overflow onto a page that other's can experience with me... that make others feel alive with me.

With so much movement... so much change right now... I should have something that feels like it needs to pour out. And I don't.

When I am loved... I pour out. When I love... I pour out. The rest is white noise... static in the background that doesn't empower me to decipher any tangible nuggets to record.

White noise... Ugh... someone change the channel.