So I had this difficult conversation today. It brought up so much stuff inside me. Just waves of pain. Happened completely out of the blue. And it wasn’t even an argument or anything. I was just being told some very sort of life altering, distressing news. At the beginning of the conversation I was panicking but by the end I knew I’d figure my shit out like I always do. But even after sorta figuring out what direction I needed to head after getting this information, I still wanted someone to hold me and tell me everything would be ok. I already knew it would be ok, but I wanted someone to fucking care. Lol.

And what I realized is that I’ve been chasing that feeling since childhood. I could remember instances from when I was a kid of hoping a parent or ANYONE gave a shit about me or my pain. Maybe there were times in my life when I thought someone cared. But not anymore.

But that hasn’t stopped me from chasing that feeling. And I look around at all the people in my life and realize we all want that. We all want to feel like someone has us. And for a lot of people, they gave up on finding that a long time ago. But I guess my stupid ass didn’t.

So as I’m sitting here processing that shit, I’m realizing no one cares and that’s fine.

Someone recently told me that I’m too intense and that I don’t have it that bad in life. They’re probably right about both of those things. But them telling me that didn’t suddenly make my ridiculously sensitive emotional switch flip off. I don’t know why I’m built this way but emotions just sort of take over my body like an electric current and there is no off switch.

So even though I am too intense and I don’t have it that bad, I’m still coursing with this emotional current right now activated by an unsafe conversation.

I’m not safe. And that’s fine.

And there is no one who wants to hear about this. There is no one who cares. And that’s honestly fine. We’re all just out here trying to survive. No one is going to tell me it’s going to be ok. And honestly I don’t want them to.

I need to stop running to outside sources hoping they will care enough to make me feel safe again. I need to be the source of my own safety. I’m tired of the people I’m hoping will make me feel safe becoming the ones who make me feel unsafe. No one has got me. Lol.

Yes, people love me and are there for me, whatever. But no one is that rock I can’t stop looking for. And I’m so exceedingly stupid for looking for it.

I’m done.

I saw a girl wearing a Wu-Tang shirt the other day and the image of her and the shirt has been stuck in my mind. I don’t really know why other than maybe because she wouldn’t have struck me as a Wu-Tang fan if I hadn’t seen the shirt. I don’t know. I didn’t ask her to name 3 songs.

Anyway, yesterday when I was looking for something to listen to I searched for Wu-Tang on Spotify and played the first playlist I came across. C.R.E.A.M. was the first song in the playlist. I’ve heard it before. Who hasn’t? I listened thinking, “How have these complex melodies escaped my attention before?”

Nah. Actually, I thought, “This is cool.”

I listened to the playlist for a while before starting it over again on C.R.E.A.M. Something about that piano in the background was haunting me. No doubt the intent. And after a conversation with a loved one who called me in pain yesterday evening, sorting through their trauma and the trauma we both share, I needed that haunting to fill my soul.

Trauma is a funny thing. It’s making and breaking. It’s forming and reforming. It changes us, shapes us, fucks us, sometimes it kills us.

That conversation with my loved one was hard. Aren’t all conversations centered on trauma like that? And the result of the conversation was clarity and fog surrounding my heart. I could see some things so clearly and others were shrouded in mystery, unknown and not understood.

What’s clear to me is this: I have an immensely soft heart, that bleeds in empathy for everyone but myself. I have not spent enough time worried about what I need or want or what is best for me. I have spent copious amounts of time worried about what will benefit others and how I can help them. And if I’m being honest, that empathy has very rarely been reciprocated. Have others shown me love and empathy? Absolutely. But so often the people I have run over myself to take care of have not wanted to take care of me in return.

What is maddening to me is that I WANT to love. I have the biggest, stupidest heart. I want to pour my love out on others and show them that they are made of the stars. But doing so my whole life has only resulted in heartache for me. So maybe it’s time I poured that love out on myself? Something I’ve been trying to do for a while now.

I don’t know. I think maybe I am stupid. LOL. That is where I usually land in moments like these. But whether or not I am stupid, I am going to work harder on loving myself and having empathy for Bonnie. She needs someone to look after her and no one else wants the job.

In the meantime, I think I will use Wu-Tang to fill in a few cracks in my soul. Wu-Tang cut with Dolly. That ought to do it.

It’s a worm. Or maybe it’s a snake. It burrows into your center through bone. With sharp teeth that bite and draw blood. Or maybe they are shaped like spades. The kind of spades that dig up the garden in the middle of the night to bury what remains, all fine and minced and wrapped so tightly.

It burrows and bites and carves and digs. Through and through. To the ancient place. The stone hollow that breathes and throbs and hums, singing its ancient song in a language forgotten by time and known only to the dust in the stars. The humming, singing, chanting stars.

It makes its nest inside. Deep inside. So deep you can only feel the tiniest flutter from its slithering, wriggling tail. The tiniest itch. You don’t even stop to wonder where that itch is coming from.

The nest is soft. The nest is putrid. It’s a tangle of lies, strangling a truth and a bundles of truths, concealing a lie.

It wriggles and circles and mats down its nest.

You didn’t let it in.

It came all on its own, birthed on the breath of your mothers and fathers and grandmothers and grandfathers. It came while you were smiling and laughing and playing. You were outside, giddy in the sunlight, soaking up the joys of the earth and the dirt and leaves and air. You weren’t even aware it existed. It came as an invisible enemy, disguised as a friend.

You’re older. And the lie that is truth or the truth that’s a lie is still inside of you. But you can feel it now. The nest that it carved in the hollow of your chest is aching. It hurts too much to believe and it hurts too much to give up hope.

The blind little worm – or maybe it’s a snake – is whispering to you. Words only you can understand. It tells you what you want to hear then tells you what will hurt the most. It’s malevolent. Or maybe beneficent. Is it killing you or saving you?

It doesn’t matter.

You cannot evict it. But you can try to ignore it. You can harden the ancient place, stop the humming. Breathe in. Breathe out. Know you will live through this pain. Pretend you don’t feel the itch, the flutter. Try to fill in the hollowed burrows. Trap it inside. Starve it. Suffocate it.

Maybe someday. Maybe someday your suffering will come to an end. You will know peace again. Like the child dancing naked in the sun with the straw hat on. Unaware. Blissful. Ignorant. Joyous.

Maybe someday you will stand naked in your kitchen letting the sweet nectar of ripened fruit trace a path down your breasts and drip onto the floor. Grinning from ear to ear. You are alone. No one can see you. Or have you.

Maybe someday you will feel the light caress of the mother’s wind, stroking your face, kissing your cheeks. She is telling you that all is well. She loves you. You are beautiful.

Maybe someday the worm with no eyes will shrivel and dry up, choking on the dust of its own corpse.

Maybe someday.

Maybe someday you will finally watch it die.