When things start going well, and in a direction that you like, most times (barring anything truly life-shattering) things go on as planned. Well, sometimes, they don't. In my case, they stopped. A dead halt. A not very active time. And a realization, that I wasn't going where I wanted to go.
Scars can run deep. I am fortunate to be where I am, but it is unfortunate that I have buried some things deeply and that I try to overcome but keep tripping over them. Because every time I think I've kicked it in the balls it comes back and kicks me in the teeth. I tend to come back but the fight is getting harder.
It is too easy to quit. And I've thought about it. I have. Quite seriously. And then I look out the window and am reminded:
I'M IN FUCKING FRANCE! I MADE THIS HAPPEN! I AM HERE AND AM LIVING A DREAM!
So now is the time all my shallow graves zombify and decide to have a go at me. Free food!
I am done asking why. It doesn't matter. They're here. They're having a go, and I'm realizing that fighting isn't always the answer. I will let them look me in the eye, kick my teeth in and have them move on. Fighting isn't always the answer. Sometimes you just have to let them show themselves. Let them have a go, and then that's that.
These zombies are scars from someone that hurt me in ways that I wish I could see. Bone scarring, flesh scarring would be a much better trophy than this hidden crap I keep finding as I do the work to make room for what's coming.
On the other hand, I've found a glistening pool of passion. It's raw, and it's deep. It's anger. And I need to go for a swim in it. I don't have to use the source material, because the passion is pure. I don't need to fear it, but I fear the vulnerability I must use to access it.
I need to go for a swim.
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