My Own Pair of Shoes

I can gaze at pictures.  We have the benefit of photos.  We have the advantage of almost feeling former faces.

But that's not always a positive.  Gee, if it's not the anxiety of the future or discontentment with the present, it's regrets about the past.  Why so much lately?  Why do I see faces in my mind's window?  Why do I long for days gone by?  Why can I only live in the present for brief moments before the past picks me out of a joyous moment?  The claws of the past get a grip on me and I can't let go; it's as if I'm not the one in control.  I'm not though, am I?

I wonder if I could call you.  If I could text you.  If I were in town, if I could remind myself to forget you.  Or if things had been different.  If scenarios traded, or just a few more months I had waited.

Could I have put my tongue in my mouth a little longer?  Could I have spoken up when I felt torn or elated?

Why must I almost always be the one who's not assertive?  Will this timidity destroy me?  I let others walk on me because I don't want to trip on their fragile bones.  I don't like to be courageous, not all the time.  But it's often much worse to be the one without his own identity because he's stuck sticking up for others.

Lately I've forgotten where my shoes are or who I've lent them to, perhaps because I've spent so much of my life trying on others'.

Compassion Fatigue (Are we there yet?)

I'm lost in the most obscure part of confusion.  I'm at the place where I'm beyond being found and yet I've fallen in what feels like a hole in the ground.  I'm wearing thin most days, though some days it feels like I'm out of it.  I sometimes feel out of options and just want to crawl into the warmth of the darkness but I know it's false.  The dark is just so cold and I don't feel like I can make it myself.  I don't want to be alone.

I'm sick but it feels like too much pressure to ask you to cradle me.  I'm stuck in a tunnel and fly like a moth to any hope of light.  I'm a parasite and hate it when others come sucking my own blood.  I find outlets and try to plug in my own surge protectors, hoping that I'll be able to plug in at any moment.  I'm so caught up in my own life that the people around me seem to just float and orbit around me.  Still, I'm not a ball of light and the planets don't revolve around me but I just want to feel cared for.  And most times people try and show me such care and appreciation it feels so forced and inauthentic.

Help me see the Truth.  I'm falling asleep here and there's no one beside me.  And I don't need anyone beside me.  And I do need someone beside me.  I'm not codependent.  I'm not independent.  I'm a rag doll; you can move my arms and legs and it'll appear as though I'm living but my insides feel empty.  Some days tears say more.  Some days tears won't come.  Some days I want to say more than tears but they just tear across my face, ridding me of any words.

I can't be just a sponge.  There has to be more to this life.  There has to be more to who I am.  I have to dispense as well as absorb, but sometimes I feel like all I ever do is expend myself until I'm dry.  Someone throw a life vest to me.  Someone teach me to swim.  Someone hold my hand.  I'm a child drowning in water just above my head.  I can't make it alone.  I'm not alone.  I'm just lonely.  Shut me up.  Hold me.  Hear me out.  And listen to me.