her life in prose

 I am sick and tired of the limbo. Of the ever-between where I feel so sickeningly not myself. Where the things that should come easy to me, like eating and going and being become the hardest chores of the day.  I feel neglected. Worn out for my shoulder to cry on and my support, and my unwavering encouragement. I am cast off for another. It is in these constant ebbs and flows of appreciation that I feel myself drowning. Sinking. Filling with water. I want more for me than this. I want more than to rise and fall on the proffered support of someone else. I deserve to be steady. constant. I deserve the certainty I want so badly. And I won't find it in the people around me. I'm so desperate to feel okay that even in my exhaustion I am motivated to tackle every self help suggestion in the book-paste motivational quotes to the wall, listen to a hundred sermons on singleness, pray for hours, talk, be silent, garden... I'll do just about anything other than run.  But I know ther...

  sometimes I wonder if there will ever be a time when my life is not swirling in confusion. if there will be a week without disagreements, if peace will finally emerge from dusty corners and step into her full glory. every night I lie down and I forcibly release the tension of the day. I drop my jaw and slump my shoulders, uncurl my toes. in the morning I force food into an unwilling mouth and pray it will settle quietly, instead of forming a rock for me to lug around all day.  I want certainty. I crave confidence. I desire to hear the overwhelming majority of support for my every decision.  It's hard to stop wanting these things.  Seemingly impossible to put one foot in front of the other, while the path is unpaved before me. When the steps are uncertain, and I have been warned by naysayers that what or where or who I want can never be.  Perhaps the trick is that there will never be enough money, the right time, the best place to live, or the easiest choice. P...