a note to september


I’m not a woman who easily bows to things; who surrenders her preconceived notions lightly. It is hard for me to break so openly, to pull apart pieces held years long by thick globs of cheap glue and set them side by side. It’s hard for me to admit to things I work so furiously to provide alternative explanations to. Because ultimately I think I am meant to be so very much in this world while being simultaneously so very little. And lately I’ve been stuck in stagnation between the two; too afraid to be too much, too headstrong to accept too little. I’ve been breaking.


august made me submit
it made me submit to the ugliest parts of myself
it made me submit to my weakness
it made me submit to my truth


I’ve always been torn between the haunting obsession that I have so much to loose and nothing at all. I am afraid of surrendering things that I don’t actually have. But the idea of it! How can I lose the idea of it? Better to keep it safe in my mind than to lose out on its possibility by taking actions to attain it. The truth is I am so afraid of doing things that make me out to be the woman I have created in my mind. See, I want people to think I have greatness innate in my veins. I want them to believe it comes so easily, so naturally to her. And maybe sometimes it does. But when it doesn’t is when I fail. When it doesn’t is when I surrender by calling it anything other than that.

August told me I was afraid and then left me alone in a room with my fears. The only way out of this room, it said, is to become someone capable of conquering all that’s inside. And once you do you will find, there was never really anything in this room at all. Nothing but you.

I think august was the mirror that falls on top of you, knocks you out, breaks across the floor and forces you to examine your bloodied face in one of its shattered pieces. At first I looked too intensely, too obsessively, and after a while I contemplated taking the shard and dragging it across my neck. Finally I stared without seeing, and when I came to I wiped the blood off my face.

I’m still not smiling and I’m still in that room, but now, today, I see the door. September, I believe, is that door. What is beyond it I can only imagine, but I feel the reality will exceed all that I dream. I guess this is all a fancy way of saying that august suffocated me, and I feel September will be a month of breathing in new spaces.

To quote John Green “I don’t know where there is, but I believe it to be somewhere. And I hope it’s beautiful.”


z.


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