Stronger legs

I love moments of stillness. There is nothing quite like the mid-afternoon nap…that isn’t really a nap, it’s just resting. The world is quiet and still and the light struggling through the curtains is gray in nature. Gray and calm, like winter days, like the crystal icicles hanging off of my balcony. I miss those nights standing on my balcony; the glow of Christmas lights all across the street, and after that, stretches of darkness made of hibernating wilderness. No wind, just my frozen fingertips and my smoke-breath. 

Memories of my apartment come like a sucker punch, knocking the wind out of me, starting the hot prickle behind my eyes. I’m sad because I had the world and carelessly dropped it. No, I sent it hurtling from my fingertips, and it crashed through the atmosphere like an asteroid. And it’s not so much that, but all of the sacrifices I made along the way from the crash site. All these sacrifices I’m still making, but I suppose I shouldn’t be complaining… not because it was my fault, but because I grew so much as a person.

Still, I can picture it like I’m still living it.

The two of us making cheddar biscuits together, our souls wrought of laughter and teamwork, my cat scrounging by our feet for pieces of cheese that had fallen unnoticed to the floor.

The winter day he left for work, and minutes later showed up in the doorway to the bathroom, tracking snow into the house, cradling his bleeding palm in his hand. My handiwork patching him back up was clumsy but caring.

Shopping for Christmas decorations and spending an unholy amount, and then when we got home at almost 11 pm, beseeching him to set up the Christmas tree because we must decorate it this instant. The room was warm and we were both sweating and covered in glitter from the ornaments; joking that we were a Kesha concert.

I never slept in those weeks and I was made of so much insomnia and caffeine and over-thought and half-buried feelings. And then we started drinking a lot and the fights, the fights were the worst, because I was talking in circles and my soul was stubborn and I felt so cold, so numb, so…. out of touch. We became a dancing flame; him trying to fan the embers while I liberally sprinkled sand on them.

I am not feeling sorry for myself…I am allowing myself to feel.
Because I miss it so much.
I slept in his arms every night. I did his laundry and he cooked for me.
We never laid on the floor and dreamed after the first night.
I had no gratitude and that became my ultimate downfall.

Now I don’t have much because I had to rebuild. But the fall taught me much this time around.

Sometimes I find myself forgetting the first half of the year. All the struggle, all the pain. Maybe subconsciously I want to bury it. But I cannot allow it to be buried; I cannot allow myself to forget. Because when I forget the memories, I tend to forget the lessons.

I will not be that girl that existed this time last year. 
I will not be selfish. I will not allow pride to be my master.
I will not be a slave to my emotions nor be incognizant of them.
 

I will be brave. I will face my emotions with maturity. I will handle them with aplomb.
I will be made of gratitude; I will banish complaints.
I will learn to love, and will focus on fixing myself — not saving, fixing, criticizing, rewriting, or helping others.
I will force my legs to stand, they will continue to gain strength, not while it away.

With everything I’ve suffered,
I’ve built fences instead of walls.
I’ve learned that it is not my success, but my significance that matters.
I’ve strengthened my heart, my soul, my eyes….my wobbly little legs.
And my legs are still wobbly. I am far from perfect, but I am making progress.

I did it for me. Not because I deserved it. But because I needed it, wanted it.

And I feel like I keep losing sight of that in these breakneck weeks.
I keep losing sight of what I went through… and I need to remember.
Not because it feels good, but because it makes me a little stronger.
It gives me a little hope. It makes me a little more grateful.

Enough excuses. I need to take care of myself, and my life.
I’m unhappy with some parts of my life because I make it that way.
I don’t take enough initiative to get out of the rut.
To get MYSELF out of the rut, actually.
I always act like someone should swoop in and save the day for me.
Enough, enough, enough.

It’s autumn and autumn makes me nervous.
But I know what I want. And I will get there. I swear.

Love
Amanda