I Hurt

I just found this scrap of writing from just about four months ago, posted below with just a few small edits for clarity.  It doesn't have much to do with my yoga practice, other than perhaps to give some insight into the space I was in before I began this endeavor.  I was two weeks out of a very unexpected breakup at the time, to give some perspective of where some of this came from.  I have certainly had brighter days.

---

The hum of the fans in the tower beside me are only silent when I don’t remember they are there, white noise that betrays quiet and solitude that I might achieve if they were still, the monitor black, the miscellany of other peoples lives not constantly refreshing and pinging me with moment to moment updates.  Social media as I sit alone with silent lips.

I want to talk for hours, and texting is no substitute.  The quality of the spoken word, imperfection and inflection would lend more meaning to the same words, but the words wouldn’t be the same.  Conversations more quickly understood, more organic, alive with ideas and reflections. Laughs shared.

I need to voice my voice, and not in so idle a practice as small talk and chit chat of, “how was your day,” and the oft repeated, “fine.”

I am not fine.  I am never fine.  I don’t know who knows.

I don’t fit in.  Never have.

I don’t think people are cogs, though some endeavor to perform the task.  I never fit quite right.

I am tired.

So tired.

I don’t think I’ll ever commit suicide.  I often wondered if I would, but perpetually I am optimistic enough to see hope, even if I don’t believe it.

I have lived a life.  It occurred to me earlier today.  Or, was it yesterday?  No matter.

I have lived.  I was in love, got married, had my heart broken.  I have felt joy, sorrow, pleasure, pain.  I have fought.  I have been in the ocean, the woods, the dessert, fields, mountains, rivers, valleys, at cliffs and waterfalls, on hikes through the deep wilderness.  I have traveled on bikes, in cars, on planes, trains, and boats.  I have been published and printed, recognized to some small degree as an artist and writer.  I served in the military, operating a wide assortment of firearms and military vehicles.  I have loving parents, loving sisters.

I have cried, a lot. I have smiled, likely as much.

I laugh.

I want to love.

I want to love myself, and I don’t know that I do.

I am a stranger, having distanced myself from me. I don’t really remember why.

I have been kind, and had kindness given.

I have started fires, watched them burn.

I am loved.

I hurt.

---

Namaste.