Waking Up

I'm awake with one of my favorite pastimes: Opening a book of fresh pages late at night (I began around 2 am) and becoming too enthralled by the story to cease and rest.

I decided a short break was needed when emotion became too much for me. I've realized now I don't let myself access my emotions like I used to just a few months ago. I don't cry easily. The other night I gave in and sobbed briefly, but I didn't dare continue. I wasn't alone, and I couldn't let someone see that part of me. That weakness. I didn't dare let it become real.

I have a strong headache. Probably from the lack of sleep. However, my head is clear. I've been reading about these people who all tried to die, but with this second chance none of them seem compelled to do it again. But at this point in the story, still all of them are stuck. There are slow progressions, but not enough to really live. I strongly relate to one of the characters, the way she coaxes through her manic depressive states and finds relief in sharp objects. I'm not manic depressive by any means, but her talk of dwelling in certain mindsets sounds familiar. The cutting, I of course relate to. Funny how stupid it sounds from another perspective. I haven't done anything like that in a long time. When I act, I sometimes miss it. Probably because it's one of the more powerful and emotionally evoking things I have done and felt. Yet I'm finding that this positive side of me... this open, carefree, loving side of me, is more powerful than I ever was in my darkness.

You see, I made myself damaged. I drowned in it. I loved the attention, yearned to do more self hatred and self injury when I didn't get enough of it. But now, I get attention for being me, rather than for hating me. It's a lovely change. In this state of mind, I find endless possibilities. The sad thing is... love is the emotion that brings me back there. This night, not too long ago, I was in the midst of it once again. It's a scary thing. And although I am not in love with the one who surrounded me with it again, suffocated me with it again... I still went back to the place. That place where my best isn't good enough. That place where every phrase dies with the moment's end. That place where it's hard to believe.

And just now, something within me clicked. I now understand the responses I get when I say I love you and let my feelings expel into endless creations of affection. I understand how hard it is to accept someone's feelings when you've been burned in the past. But I look at those who've hurt me. Yes, they broke me. No.. they didn't. I let myself believe that and then it felt true. I created that reality. They hurt me, but only I have the power to break myself. They just left memories. Memories that I could do anything with. Memories I chose to let run and ruin me. But there's always a chance to turn everything around. Exploring this feeling of mine, this place I go to when someone actually wants to be with me, I'm discovering that it's almost disappeared. I can't wait for the day it's gone. And I have hope it will be.

I feel that my life is full of possibilities, and the only thing that has ever been in my way is myself.

I tried to kill myself at age 16. I'm like the people in the book I'm reading, only I didn't get the luxury of going to rehab. Yes... I'm calling it a luxury. And anyone reading this blog post cannot begrudge me for that statement. Instead, I've been living my life as it was. I lived stagnant for so long, but now I let the waves develop and crash. I like this person, the one who has finally made something of the second chance she's been given.

And here I am, smiling because I just now realized: I have always been this person.