I am aggravated. I am annoyed. Anxious. Overwhelmed and tired. None of these feelings are constant. They are however, lingering. I have some root issues that I can't seem to face. Like an onion, the more I peel, the more I cry, the more there is to peel. I am tired of peeling. I am tired of talking, discerning. I am almost tired of prayer.
I know enough to know that what ails me does not rest in the physical world. It is my uneasy mind. It is the past and present running up against each other. Everyone thinks they have an answer. Perhaps they do. I just need the din of the world to shut the fuck up and let me catch my breath. Maybe I am unfair in wishing the world to be quiet on my behalf. Perhaps it is I who needs to shut the fuck up.
Maybe because it's Phyllis Hyman's birthday and I feel the pull of depression whispering seductively let me in. Let me be with you. SIGH! All I feel is alone. I feel like I am screaming and no one hears me.
I know enough to know that I can spin myself out of this nothingness. The question is when? There is something about sulking and retreating into one's despair that traps you, blinds you and binds you.
I am not without grace. I am in a storm that seems to want to swallow me and grace is reaching for me...always.