My writing is my release.
I find it so hard right now to just relax at times. My insomnia coupled with tears and looped thoughts have become the friends that keep me company when sleep should be the visitor that I welcome in.
My heart. My mind. My body. It all seems so heavy. My spirit is doing CPR. It’s refusing to give up on me even when I shut down and just want to shut the entire world out.
Depressed, sometimes. It’s not a residence for me. I just feel deeply, and that root of disappointment may take a while for me to fully clear from my soul.
This writing isn’t supposed to be a dark place but a place of restoration, a release from what’s playing heavy day to day. Take it a moment at a time, you say. That’s all I’ve been gifted and that’s all I can do.
These hands are raised in surrender and in praise. I thank you for so much, yet I call out to you feeling like Job in a broken place. Many darts pierce my heart and slowly bleed upon the dreams and joy that once gave more life.
This is temporary. Again I say, this is temporary. The Phoenix in me knows that ashes will soon generate more beauty and I’ll be flying free and as strong as ever in due time. In the meantime, I surrender it all because I’m powerless to do anything else.