I have a strange sense of fragility. As if the newness of this won’t last, and if I’m not careful, I’ll break it. Not even sure what “it” is. There are differences, and I know that things have changed.
I clearly don’t feel the same way about anything anymore. I have imagery to rely on now, a kind of anti-abuse, a different look and feel. This is my kingdom, this that I survey. All those bad things, they no longer inhabit my kingdom; my kingdom is clear and empty as far as the eye can see. They exist outside my kingdom, and occasionally I can spot them, but they can do me no harm. They belong elsewhere.
I can stand inside this kingdom and feel safe and in control, and I decide how my kingdom looks and feels. Nothing is here unless I allow it.
I might have taken this imagery too far, but it’s mine, and I can do with it what I like. I draw great comfort from this. I can picture myself sat on a chair, letting that sense of ownership fill all the spaces and dark corners.
In moments of weakness, I can put myself back in that room, sit still, and feel that same feeling flow through me. I never want to lose the ability to do that. It anchors me, it protects me, it makes me feel strong.
I’m not used to a feeling of strength. It’s new, and it’s a powerful feeling, and I’m unsure of its power, like driving a car with too much horsepower — the sense that I might not be able to control it, steer it, point it in the right direction.
I feel as if I have clean emotions. Untarnished by dark, scary things. Emotions that feel how they are supposed to feel. Crying has suddenly become something that holds no fear and actually does what it’s supposed to: releases tension, allows me to express feelings I can’t explain, being used properly, maybe for the first time. Oh, this is what crying is for. Ok. Sure. Let’s do that.
Someone says something positive about me and I no longer want to be sick. It’s as if it has somewhere to land now, like it floats into me and nestles. Maybe I’m not as useless as I first thought. I did a thing for some people and the message got passed back to me to thank me, said they couldn’t have done it without me, and I believed them. It made me feel pleased. I had done my bit. I had been useful.
There’s a serenity that tastes and smells like nothing I’ve known before. A kind of inner calm that’s slowly growing and filling the available space, as if it was always there but it just couldn’t find a way in before. Now it’s smoothing itself over everything like honey.
I’m not saying this is a constant, all-over, complete sensory experience. I’m saying it exists. It’s there, at various moments, catching me off guard. When I least expect it, I find myself feeling these things. Sensing something new and unfamiliar. In my peripheral vision I see hope, over the next horizon I hear the sound of approaching peace. Around the next corner I glimpse a soupçon of positivity. Everywhere I look, or listen, or feel, there’s a different tune playing. Not rising to a crescendo but filtering through the dusk: a minor jazzy note here, a gentle chord there, a little staccato of a new rhythm, a new beat, a more exotic dance.
Something has changed. I can’t quite … just there … hear it?
I think maybe I can.
a blog less ordinary 