Set That Shit on Fire

“When it is all finished, you will discover it was never random.”

Eventually I knew I would be back here – writing in a moment of duress. I mean it’s where my affection for it all began, so naturally.

Does anyone else despise crying as much as I do? Especially when you don’t know exactly why those tears are pouring down your face with no feeling of relief making an appearance.

I’m more emotionally exhausted than I’ve yet to experience before now, which honestly seems damn near fucking impossible all things considered. I’m starting to think it’s because once you start purging you don’t stop – it reminds me of dry-heaving actually. Your body wants to continue to release the poison, but nothing more wants to come out. I want it all to come out, all at once. The more painful, the fucking better. My body, mind and soul are tired as fuck. What else is left?! It’s got to be so deeply embedded in my makeup that I have absolutely no idea where the final toxins remain.

Maybe it’s attachment – to people, places and things. Maybe the life I’ve chosen here and now isn’t meant for me, but perfect for someone else. I love people too much. Sometimes I wish I didn’t, but what’s a life without love? It’s worth being human for, to feel it, to touch it, to hold it and occasionally be broken by it.

It had been 309 days since anyone touched me intimately. 309 fucking days. Do you know how many of those days I wished I had never made that commitment? Or how many days I wished to be so whole that physical contact wasn’t necessary? I can assure you, it is. I can also assure you that when that commitment is gone, you miss it, like you miss your childhood comfort object (my blanket was named Minnie and the reason I have a cross-shaped scar on my thumb). It becomes a part of you, a part of your strength.

I no longer live a life with regret. Everything is as it should be. Do I always like it? Fuck no. Do I always trust it? Fuck no. Do I see what the future holds from all the way over here? Fuck no, but I know how I want it to feel. No one and nothing will stand in the way of that, including myself. I run this fucking table and all my high cards are facing up.

Love your damn self. Your damn crying sessions that appear to make no sense, but always mean something. Your damn ego that fights so hard to hide you behind those weak ass walls. Your damn body when it’s feeling tired. Your damn mind when it needs sweet relief. And lastly, but never least, your damn heart that’s been broken, shackled and torn apart yet still beats out of your chest whenever love enters a room.




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