Limbo

I’m sitting at my desk at work while I write this, but it’s short-lived, you see. I’m quitting, or have quit — depends on how you look at it, I suppose. My papers are organized, references made for tricky processes, emails have been publicly archived, papers filed, and an away message set to begin in 30 minutes telling my customers that I no longer work here.

So, you see, if intentions count for anything, I have already quit but I haven’t managed to say the words to anyone of the faces milling about. I continue to take calls and process accounts while I sit here and muster up the courage to do it, to end this stage, this job that I’ve done well with, but that has been slowly sucking the enjoyment from my life for the majority of the two years I’ve sat in this chair.

I’m still sitting in this chair. My thoughts are screaming and my heart is pounding and the time is running out to muster the words to express my completion of employment. I’m in limbo and it’s eating me alive.

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5 Truths

Kait Mauro is one blogger I’ve followed for a while, and one I’ve greatly enjoyed for just as long. She recently shared an introductory / list post, Identity, as a way for her readers to come to know her in a brief, succinct fashion. I love lists and I love introductions, so naturally I was quite taken with the idea. A few days after posting Identity, she posted 5 True Things, a list of truths or, as she puts it: “5 things I’m learning lately”.

Being able to identify and define my truths as well as my life lessons has been a skill I’ve only just begun pursuing, but it’s one that I recognize as being invaluable to personal improvement.

So, with that, I suppose I’ll share my own 5 Truths / Things I Need to be Reminded of Constantly:

  1. Happiness isn’t going to happen if I’m not willing to make the declaration, take the risks, and chase it.
  2. As stressful as hurdles and struggles are when things already seem incredibly tenuous, recognize the value in the process, revel in the accomplishment — then get back to it.
  3. Being afraid is acceptable; letting that permanently  stop all forward momentum is not.
  4. Not everything will turn out “okay”, but I will be more than alright.
  5. Go slow and enjoy.

Be sure to check out Kait’s writing, photographs, and truths over at Don’t Flinch.

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You / Us / We

It’s an odd gesture to be writing to a mass of cells that will likely fall away as quickly as they have managed to take me captive, to wrap my mind in a tangle of hope and worry; to wholeheartedly want this future and to plead for the universe for more time, more preparation, more stability.

We haven’t been here, at this particular juncture, in quite a while — near about five years, if I remember correctly; but the base of my fear is the same now as it was back then: I’m not ready for this. He’s not ready for this, he doesn’t even know about this. We. are not. ready. for this. But we may have to be. Soon.

Even then, all those years ago, I wrote to the transient cells. I wrote out my hopes for the future; I wrote out my excitement, despite the fear, at what my world could quickly become. I scrawled page after page of my worries for futures, more often for the one belonging to the eventual You. I wrote out my disbelief, my trepidation at the fact that this was happening, that I would fail, that I can’t give all that’s deserved — required, even.

No matter the outcome, no matter whether they grow or go, we’ll get by. We will. We can’t let it be any other way. I’ve never wanted a lot but I’ve always wanted You. I’ve always wanted Us. Someday, I’m reminded. Someday soon or further away, we’ll share in the creation of this newly formed We.

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Just Yet

I want to press my forehead against yours.
I want to place my hand beneath your ear.
I want our scared and ragged air to mix upon our lips.
I want to tuck beneath your arm.
I want to fold myself into you.
I want our panicked hearts beating to calm.
I want to wrap your arms around me.
I want to release the weight of these worries.
I want you to wring them from my frame.
I want to pull you closer in the night.
I want to whisper my love into your chest.

Don’t give up on me just yet.

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Complicated

As far back as I can remember, the boundaries of what I’ve considered “private” have been quite flexible, but never as flexible (or less existent) than they are now. They way I view privacy is that it’s born of the desire to hide (or, at least not advertise) atypical traits, that may (or may not) be viewed as unfavorable. I do not consider myself exempt from this, there are still things that I’d consider “privileged” information, things that not everyone will see or know, but I just don’t feel the need to be as discerning as I used to be about such things.

When I really began writing, the Kate I had become was one I hardly recognized. To say that I was struggling would be putting it lightly. I was falling apart, losing bits of myself with each turn. This all started as a way of pouring out the overwhelming emotion that welled up within my chest, weighed heavily on my heart, restricted my breathing, and caused more than one inappropriately timed cry. I needed an outlet. I needed to be honest, brutally so, about where I was, how I had arrived at this place, and how I was going to work past it.

Write honestly and share openly. When I began sharing my writing last year, these were my only rules. I needed to write without a filter, and learn to express all the things that weighed me down and plagued my mind. While my posts aren’t always shared in a clear, chronological order, it’s still been immensely helpful to have a record of where I’ve been emotionally. It’s helped me make sense of my patterns and habits. It’s helped me get back to being the me that I recognize.

In the beginning of all of this, I shared exactly what I was feeling. I gave little, if any, thought to what my words might do or mean to the people I was writing about. It wasn’t a lack of respect for them, it was just my process. It’s what I needed to do, and that had to take priority. Honestly, had I been met with resistance an earlier part of this process, it’s likely that I would have stopped before I realized how beneficial it has been, and how it is worth continuing.

It’s hard to write, easier when you write what you know — but hard once again when what you know is personal and involves other people.

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