Getting Started, Wanting to be Free

I often want to start writing again, but the words get stuck. While there might be dozens of things to write about, I get trapped with the hundreds of excuses that keep me away from the words being spilled on the page or the screen.

Quite simply, my heart is broken today and it is of my own doing. I was in love and pursuing many dreams, including the one of us; and in pursuit of the white picket fence, I found myself locking all of my soul’s hurts in a box, dragging it every place I traveled. The box was heavy, but I had grown accustomed to the weight of it, and I found comfort in knowing it was there. To me, the box was a “to-do” list package, waiting for my attention and strength to open it and tackle the tasks. Because I had gotten used to it, I often forgot the box was chained to my leg, so much so that it felt that it was an appendage that had always been there.

One thing in the box got stirred up a few months ago. As we started dreaming more and more of our dreams together, making plans for that not so distant date, and working towards getting everything in order, I felt such a stir from the box. The box had decided it could not wait to be opened and it wanted it known to all that it existed.

It wanted to be known to you.

I struggled with how to reconcile this. Do I tell you? Could you handle it, especially after the stressful half year of my studies, migraines, depression? Could I handle it on my own?  Somehow in the struggle of what to do, the thing in the box grew bigger, like a monster that was being fed. And before I could find the words to tell you, the monster became my Mr. Hyde and it destroyed us.

Now you are alone, feeling hurt and angry. I am here, alone, feeling shattered.

Our dreams are gone, but I still have this box. If only it was large enough to crawl inside, I would retreat into it’s darkness now.  Although the box wants to be known, it’s also a part of me. Oh, how I would love to dive deep inside of me and hide there.

Maybe I am not just playing Mr. Hyde. Maybe it is who I am. Maybe I am this bad person who keeps secrets and keeps a distance from everyone. Perhaps I am this shell of a person, not worthy of happiness, love, or redemption from my sins?

The box is my captor, my prison, my reality because it is all I am left with. I just want to be free.

I just want to be free.

 

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