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Holes

Moment to moment. That’s how I’m living right now. It used to be one day at a time. That’s too long. Moment to moment. I’m not sure why. I’m tired of trying to figure it out. I currently live in a world of extremes. He’s attacking and on the prowl, stalking me and wanting the kids–or he’s completely silent for days and I’m chewing off my fingertips with worry about what he’s planning and when he’ll attack next.

I’m still not free.

I need to get to the space where it doesn’t matter what he does or doesn’t do, I can still be free.

I play so many head games with myself. One of them is called worst case scenario. I figure out what the worst case scenario is and I accept it. Sometimes it includes death and dismemberment, sometimes it might be dealing with cops, sometimes it might be losing some sleep. Whatever the scenario, I figure out what the worst case might be, and come to terms with it. This helps me realize that, even if my greatest fears come true, I’ll figure out how to be okay.

Sometimes I believe me.

But believing me means trusting me and trusting me means knowing me and right now I feel like a different person one moment to the next.

At times, I can control it. At times, I can say, “No more of this. You are a happy, determined, powerful person and you can do this.” Sometimes I feel and know that. Then a trigger happens or a moment passes and I can’t remember how to know that.

“Enough!” I want to shout at myself. “Enough! I’m done feeling confused and afraid! No more! Stop!”

STOP

Just stop. Choose to stop. Choosing. How do I do that again?

“You’re going to burn out at these RPMs,” a friend told me. I have. Burned to a crisp. I am ashes.
Enter Pheonix analogy. Rising from the ashes and all that. It’s a powerful metaphor, and actually quite accurate.

Exceptional people don’t just happen. I’ve been thinking about that lately. I like to get to know people’s guts and people’s stories, especially exceptional people. The ones who are driven to accomplish something or help people or make a difference. They don’t just happen. They usually have a really good reason for doing what they do, and it’s often pain-filled and heartbreaking, which is what makes their smiles all the brighter and their deeds all the more powerful. I’ll be one of them some day. Because I don’t give up.

I feel a little bit better, now. With writing, my choice comes back. With talking, I remember me more. I need to do it more often.

I still don’t know exactly how to be, yet. I’m still searching for what I enjoy and how to keep my happy. But writing and talking makes it feel not quite so far away.

I do know the tools. The mindfulness and meditation and centering and breathing and lots of praying. I know those things in my head.

But sometimes my brain is broken and my soul has holes and I forget.

Writing and talking helps me remember. My friends help me remember. My family helps me remember. My kids help me remember. I love them. I love me. God loves me. He wants me to be happy. Help me remember.

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