I turned down Xmas Eve mass in favor of the bath tub.

(despite disapproving shrugs from my father)

It’s increasingly easier to dwell in the reality beneath the reality.

Sans guilt that is.

So I submerged in warm water + slowed down my breath.

Waiting right there was a stream of information.

Tears began + beliefs surfaced.

This one :: ‘Nobody’s here for me.’

This is why I was home for Christmas.

To challenge said creed in the framework of family.

Amidst the corresponding speed + choice to slow down.

Alongside aspects of self that identify as separate due to differing pace.

With it came the kind of tears that are so implanted, all you can do is open your mouth in droolish moans as they dislodge + make their way down your face.

Nobody’s here for me.

An interesting conviction.

One I suspect lots of ‘feelers’ have.

We need to be matched with a corresponding capacity for feeling.

Or we will internalize that there is, in fact, nobody here for us.

Nobody who can hold us.

So we learn to hold ourselves.

Ever so tightly.

With impeccable control (errr addictions).

We flicker between realities.

We can’t just be.

Because there’s a tug.

The self we’ve developed for holding won’t allow it.

I got out of the bathtub with a knot in my intestines.

Pain everywhere.

The emotions invested in this belief, still devoted.

That evening, I lived amongst close family + friends in the less preferred reality.

The one above.

Where I smile + chat in an empty way.

Part of me writes these words in hopes they will read them.

So they know it wasn’t me they were talking to.

Me was tied up in a process.

One which developed further Christmas morning.

The tears now dislodged, fully flowed onto the oriental carpet which I lay.

Holiday tunes + household celebration echoed through the floorboards yet their was no pull to join.

I was falling through the cracks in my control.

Into something far bigger.

Something that could hold me in the world below with zero urgency to return.

There was no fight to get here nor any sense of estrangement for residing.

This place.

Surely I’ve been working toward it for lifetimes.

Rather toward trusting it exists.



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