“Just write it all out. Just put everything that is in your head into words that make sense and then put it all on to paper.” “It’ll help you but it will help so many others too.”
I used to wonder a lot why it actually mattered if my thoughts made sense on paper. They almost rarely do in my head nowadays, so why do I have to make them make sense here. It wasn’t until I talked to Joe the other night that I realized they don’t. I’ve been so worried about what I was told by my therapist when I was a kid and again after Zac’s adoption, that just getting all of my thoughts to make sense and put them on paper was the key. But they are my thoughts. They need to make sense to me, right? Why does everyone else need to understand?
I’ve sat here so much lately feeling so much overwhelming emotions and not knowing how to run from them. I couldn’t let them consume me. I know what happens when that happens. So I needed to remain in control. Except I couldn’t. I couldn’t remain in control. I was losing it. I was crying. Shaking, I couldn’t breathe. And when I finally could breathe… I couldn’t feel. Everything in me started to go numb. Which scared me more than anything. So I’d trigger myself. I’d remember something that hurt.. I’d remember how easy it has been for him to walk away. Or for anyone to walk away for that matter. I’d cry all over again. I’d be shaking again. I knew soon I’d be struggling to breathe, but I didn’t go numb. So I grabbed my keys and my purse and left. I drove. I drove and drove. I turned up the music loud enough to drown out the racing thoughts. It worked for a bit. Then it didn’t. A thought. A single thought broke through. I couldn’t make it out. But it was enough to remind me that I deserved my tears. That I’ve hurt so many people with my past, that I deserved the tears. I cried harder. Drove faster. Music was turned louder. I’m honestly not sure how that situation didn’t end badly. I don’t even remember cars around me, which I can only assume where there since it was Christmas. All of a sudden I was at China Palace. I’m not sure how I got there. But I sat there and cried. I cried until I could think clearly enough to take a few good deep breaths. Collected myself. I called and ordered food. Might as well, right? I’m sitting in the parking lot. I might as well make sure there is something in the house that I will actually eat when I’m able to. 3:10PM. That is what my clock said. I went and paid for my takeout order and drove home. Clear as day. I remember all of it. The cars, the drive, the minimum traffic, the slower 90s country that somehow popped up on my Spotify. The stuff from the boat.. from Papa’s boat. Or when he and I would be outside in the garage working with music on in the background. Grounded. I started to feel grounded.
Beautifully Chaotic 