Messy Bed, Messy Head

 They say "Messy bed, messy head"
My life,
everything around me is always in disarray,
and my mind,
well,
I’d like to think it is more in order than that.
Though with my constant emotion shifts and worries,
I highly doubt it is.

They don’t say, "Messy head, messy bed"
So I started there.

Everything from my car,
pushed out, flipped through, tossed..
And my room,
notebooks filled with three years of effort,
and the same name repeating,
the same phrases written,
spelled out rumination,
fear,
loss,
feeling betrayed.

Swiftly, I ran my fingers down the closed pages,
each opening for a split second before my eyes,
and as each passed I could read a line,
and see myself,
where I was,
three years of imagery and memories flying by.
All moments where I was gripping on,
white knuckled and dangling,
blaming myself and looking for answers,
for solutions,
for solace in something.

I always kept everything I ever wrote,
like it meant something,
to see myself struggle so sadly,
I’ll never want to see those pages again,
so out they went.
Usually I would hold on in fear,
as if I’d lose some dear moment in time as they left my palm,
my room,
those blue and white pages…
But written words can only keep so much,
everything that is gold stays in your heart,
everything meant to last sticks to your soul.
Not on a page.
Not even here.

I’m learning,
and he told me he’d see me through this,
my worries, my nature of fear,
instead of misunderstanding he said
"I’ll help you get through this"
as if it were temporary and not something that has plagued me my whole life.
Something about it gives me comfort,
the patience,
the down to earth feeling about everything he does,
relaxed, no stress, don’t worry.
He is that where I am not,
and maybe that can work.

I feel more clarity now, 
after a few days of nothing but fogged ideas and thoughts,
maybe it took sweating it out,
running myself into the ground physically,
until every inch of my body was dripping sweat.
When your adrenaline is pumping, nothing stops it,
the muscle aches don’t even exist any more.
The wind, the rolling, the turning, spinning, and falling.
The addiction I have grown to it is quite crazy.

It keeps me happy,
and so does leaving practice to a phone call,
because he remembered what time I’d be out,
even though he was working.