Most of what comes out of my mouth is negative, pessimistic, angry, upset, moany rubbish.
Even more is stored up in my mind.
How do you speak out goodness, happiness, positivity and peace when you can’t remember the last time you felt like that? When your reserves of these things have long been empty? When it just wouldn’t be the truth?
I’ve never really been the kind of person who has nothing to say. I love to discuss, debate, wrestle, explore and communicate with people. I love to connect.
But I’ve had less to say of late, mainly because I don’t want to lie. I don’t want to be false and I can’t seem to pretend too well.
I’ve never minded being the one to speak out, to advocate or stand up for someone or something.
In fact it just seems to happen. In fact I will always happily speak out.
I wasn’t always right and I wasn’t always heard. But boy did I try.
Where other people are concerned, I’m on the ball. I’m active, I’m energised, I’m empowered. I’m overflowing with love and admiration, care and encouragement, ideas and time.
But when it comes to me? Not so much.
I just can’t seem to muster the same love I have for others, for myself. I don’t know where to start with the whole loving yourself thing, but I so passionately believe in it and will it for everybody. I would spend every pound, every minute, every day to help somebody else feel loved and important, listened to and understood, special and cherished.
But me? Not so much.
So, eventually, I ran out of energy. I ran out of energy to sustain friendships. I ran out of health and happiness. I became sick and sick of life and sick of myself for being that way. I let things slip and crack and grow old and unkempt. Life was too empty and cold to fuel my lifestyle. It didn’t seem to make sense and it didn’t feel good at all. In fact it felt like I was trapped in an eternal, internal, invisible, abusive relationship. Where I gave and I served and I loved and I shared and I believed and I tried so hard…..all the time…..and I just kept smacking my head on this giant wall. Constantly. It was relentless and nothing could stop it from growing taller and wider and darker and colder and harder. It got harder and harder to climb and I couldn’t run far enough to get around it anymore. I couldn’t beg it to let me under and there were no more books or boxes to stand on to at least look over it.
Sometimes, for whatever reason, I managed to make a little hole. And a little bit of light came through.
I see everybody and their lives and the world going by, and I realise – nobody can see me. And I have no voice to call out, I have no love for myself and eventually I stop trying to make those holes.
I let the hate and the hurt consume me.
I let the lies have the last word and all I can cling to is sleep.