Maybe a Push

I want to write about my feelings, but my brain won’t let them come to its forefront. I seem to have entered a strange suppression zone where, although I want to write, I can’t seem to hold onto my thoughts.

Last night, I cried on my way home from the gym. I felt hugged. I’m not sure what I mean by that. I suppose the way I’m treated by some of the men that I know leaves me feeling hugged, which is such a nice way to feel. I didn’t know mere kindness and genuine affection could have that effect. I cried tears of relinquishment; Relinquishment of control, of heart-stopping anxiety, relinquishment of the idea that I am one half of a sweet, caring abundant relationship and relinquishment of scream-inducing rage and sleep-thwarting denial. I finished crying by the time I got home.

I feel as though love is on the way. I’m waiting. I’m available. I want to be special for somebody, again. I want a soul/soul connection and unfaltering camaraderie.

I’m all fogged-over, just like Dorothy was in the field when the wicked witch of the west performed her poppy spell. I feel vaguely hypnotized, as though my memories are forgetting themselves without my help, which, ironically, is very helpful.

The tragedy is over. There will never be another event in my life as shocking as finding out that my Chris was going to be dead in four days.

I feel like I am beginning to consider testing the “letting go” waters, although with much trepidation.

Reassurance is what I need. Reassurance is what I have always needed.

And maybe a push.