Unmoored. Reflections on the past year.

I think, looking back, that this will have certainly proven to be my most difficult year, perhaps not in life overall, but certainly up to this point. I certainly intend on multiplying the number of years I’ve lived by three or four so, at this stage, it may not seem like much, but it most definitely felt like a lot at a time. […] I feel pretty unmoored right now, and the slightest thing often sends me reeling in ways it really shouldn’t and wouldn’t have a year or two back. At the very least, however, I am proud of myself.


On limits

Pushing my body to the limit is something I enjoy. I have a sick enthusiasm for pushing through pain, knowing that I can and have withstood more pain than a lot of people my age, pain that goes beyond just muscular burn. But I think i’ve come to the conclusion that I can’t row in the autumn, and maybe not next spring either.

An honest addendum.

I posted this yesterday, with a poem complete and yet not. Because I wrote more, but I fear posting it. But that’s what the point was, wasn’t it. So here’s my honest addendum to that post yesterday, this honest addition that keeps going and swelling those… fears. There is still hiding and there is also honesty, and it is a work in progress. This is Part 2, and while it stands alone, it doesn’t really, not for me, not as me. If you’re taking the time… read Part 1 – it matters.

How is my heart? 

My heart is nervous and frayed that you won’t love me as much
as the person i was
as the person i should be
and wished i could be.
My heart wants to speak but so often feels judged
feels judged as i lay out these words and
Nervous of subsequent anger and
Fear of sha-king heads or
Hea-vy hearts
caused by mis-presumptions

My heart is hiding and sore
Halfway around and an ocean away
Where home moved and love was
and love might.
My heart wants to speak but refuses to say
Just quite what
for what if they read it
and what if they knew it
and what if my heart didn’t know what it wanted
or if it ran like it ran in the past
and what if it skipped and it tripped and it fell
and what if the tendrils of hope that i smushed
what if those tendrils no longer were there
or just weren’t… quite that.
Because maybe i’m scared
and maybe i freeze
and maybe that work or that boy or that friend wasn’t quite what i wished it would be
but that hope that just maybe
was what kept me alive
Because what if i actually can’t
and they actually don’t
And what if I’m left staring at scattered pieces of who I thought I was and’d be?