Sitting on the outside while feeling like I am on the inside of all the secrets the world has to offer. I stumble. I fall. I second guess myself. I look around and have absolutely no clue if my life is real or a story of fiction, words on the pages of some book that is being written as I stumble to understand this nexus.
How does one know when the world is using them? When all of the hurt that they feel doesn’t need to be felt at all? And, how does one swallow down that hurt and see the bright side, looking for the silver lining in every situation when the situation remains stagnant and oh so incredibly different every single day? Will I know when it is real or when I should walk away?
You see, once you’ve been gutted, cut from sternum to spleen and had everything torn from you, figuratively, it is hard to ever trust a touch, a feeling, an emotion for what it is. This voice in the back of your mind always sits in anxious-wonder waiting for the ball to drop, the lies to be exposed. How many people can be in on one lie? How many people can hold onto a dozen or more lies? How many records can be hidden in a world where we have freedom of information? Am I looking too deep to find answers when I have what should be the truth sprawled out in front of me?
It is almost as though I am performing an autopsy on life itself rather than the dead. Making my Y incision and peeling back the layers, looking for blemishes, flaws, things that I was told weren’t there. Seeking answers to questions that no one ever asked. Presuming the innocent are guilty before I begin my investigation in the first place. Allowing myself to be pulled down and tortured by the hurt that I unveil, hurt that wouldn’t have existed at all had I left the flesh alone and not sought problems that didn’t exist outside of my mind.
The mind is a powerful thing. Probably the most powerful thing. We can make nearly anything manifest if we will it to, subconsciously or with intent. Some are great at using this gift to live a life of intent, to create and not harm. Others, like myself, are great at feeling the pain of the world and allowing it to pull down, hard until I am the bloody mess.
Do I want to be a mess or the one that speaks the wise words and influences others to be wise with their time, to live an intentional life? I personally don’t feel any amount of infinite wisdom can be worth the air used to speak if we haven’t walked through our own broken dreams, felt our own brokenness, held our insides in our hands and begged to be saved and to die, all at the same time.
Inner conflict may be the only thing that keeps us looking forward, seeking answers, questioning the unquestionable and living a life that seeks knowledge and power rather than pretending we have it all figured out.
I promise I have nothing figured out. Not a single thing. But I live in love, I hurt in love. I am the most authentic version of myself that I could possibly be. I bare my scars to the world and I do not fear the world’s judgment as each and every scar is a reflection of the shattered mirror that shows my life. The broken raw version of me, not the airbrushed version I wish the world could or would see.
Who am I? That’s a question I have been seeking an answer to for nearly 20 years and if anything, I am further now from knowing than I ever had been in the past. For the first time though, that feels strangely “okay”. I am far from content and yet I am good exactly where I am – performing autopsy’s on my own life searching for the answers to… I don’t know.