I am listening to rain as I write this now.
I am elsewhere. I am imagining I’m at my mother’s home outside of Seattle. I am warm under the bed, and in the dark. The blankets are heavy, and I like the feeling. Frank is pressed against my back, curled into a little knot. It is raining, because it is always raining. The sound of the rain drops hitting the roof gutters, or if the rain is mixed with wind it is also hitting the window glass. But, it is very soothing.
I cannot fool myself that I do not wish I was living this moment tomorrow night. I long for the morning of Thanksgiving with my mom. How she allows herself to live in her robe this day of the year. We turn on Gone With The Wind, and we prepare the turkey and stuffing at 7 a.m. The house is all quiet except for our small chatter. I would go out and get myself coffee, and for her, a hot chocolate. Frank would ride in the car with me respectively. The air smells so incredibly fresh outside. I hope it wouldn’t be raining, but it may well be.
I’ve been wrestling with this longing for a while, or at least when the holidays started creeping up on me. I’m trying to let myself be ok with it, forgive myself, or not feel ashamed or selfish for it. I’m trying to accept the sacrifice of being here, to know I have much to be grateful for, because I still have somewhere incredibly loving to go. To embrace new traditions as a sign of my new chapter in my life, which I took up almost six months ago now. I’ve learned so much in that short time. It is incredible. I’ve messed up double what I’ve learned, but still found the sense of fun in all of this no matter what.
I think about too much sometimes, and my brain kind of runs wild with thoughts and ideas. Sometimes it is no good, but I also know this is just a symptom of who I am. I think that is the best way to put it, really. I also go through a bout of emotions on a regular basis. I dissect those, too. Sometimes I am confused by whatever I am feeling, and I am good at suppressing it if it doesn’t seem acceptable for whatever reason I have come up with in my head to do so.
Tonight, when I am feeling this longing for my family I am really trying to allow myself to feel it, even if it’s uncomfortable or stings my heart. I know that it really is ok and natural. Yet, I am still hesitant to write it here, isn’t that the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard? What could I be so terrified of?
I think this is something I have really been trying to work on, well for a while, but especially for the last six months. I have friends who love me dearly, and continue to challenge me to do so. Though I still greatly struggle rather frequently to voice feelings, emotions, uneasiness, uncertainty or whatever else to these very people that make me feel nothing but safe. I am aware of the fear though, I just wish I knew why. Maybe that’s not the point though, and that really doesn’t matter. I’m not sure.
I am really trying though, and I think even in just this time I have really opened up so much more about what is actually going on inside. Or, maybe just a little bit more. But, it is a step. Sometimes it feels impossible though. Just when it is about to slip off of my tongue, I swallow it right back up and try to cover it up completely. It is actually a battle in my mind when I get the courage to talk about it with someone at all. I am trying to teach myself that even those feelings that I can have that scare, frustrate or make me feel sad, that it’s ok to have them anyways. I’m trying to understand that if I feel something no matter what it is that I should not be ashamed or disappointed in myself for them. Or really to just allow myself to feel them at all. That’s just as big to me as having the courage to voice (or write) them.
I must sleep now. I’m exhausted by just writing this, and mulling over it for the past…six hours? So bizarre that I let it sit for that long to even muster up the ability to write it down in words.
Hum. I’ll finish this later, perhaps.