Writing

Not writing feels like lying, even if only by omission. Not writing feels like I’m hiding. Have you ever played hide and seek with someone that’s terrible at seeking? Hiding parts of yourself. You get bored. Stir crazy. You start moving around, peeking around the corner of the barricade to see if they’re even close. When someone is bad at seeking, that’s always how you’re found – trying to see if they’re even close. So I bury these bits. I don’t write them out. Life gets hard and I’m overwhelmed so I tuck them away instead. Usually for too long. They feel unsettled. Something feels off balance. They start peaking out, seeping out. Tears, shouts, clenched teeth, hands turned fists, reddened face, frustration at noise. They always come out to see if it’s safe – they can only stay in hiding for so long. Not writing feels like neglect. My mind isn’t putting the feelings into words anymore and the feelings just bubble up, overflowing. I was a witch so many years for Halloween. Carrying a cauldron, bubbling over with sweets. As I unwrap each piece, shove it in my mouth, push the feelings further down so they can’t bubble over – emotional eating. Yesterday I wanted to starve myself, grasping for control, so I bought comfort food instead. When I can’t find the balance, I shoot for extremes but I didn’t even overeat. I cried, ate enough, and went to bed. Not starved nor overflowing but leaning against the support beside me as I try to find my balance. Today, I’m writing. It’s been weeks. But today, I’m not hiding – trying to find my balance.

Much love, until next time.