As I sit still, my body close & quiet. I suffer.
I put myself smack dab in the middle of some heavy shit yesterday. Some thoughts I hadn't ever thunk in public were falling out of my face like chunks of vomit. My vision blurred, my guts churned while I spoke. But I. Stayed. Still.
And it was noticed yesterday that I do this. That I hide in plain sight when there's trouble. That I fold my pain up into neatly edged packages and sit on them as if they were the most comfortable seat in the house.
This was not pleasant news. As my eyes were trying to focus, I got cold. And as much as I felt sorrow for my kid self and anger at the usual suspects I couldn't react.
Have I mentioned the people I know who I envy the most? They are the ones whose emotions are always and consistently readily available to them (at least that's the way they look to me, none of this is rational, Internets, I know that).
Have I also mentioned the therapist I saw for about a half a second when I lived in San Francisco? He's the one who said to me: "No, you're crazy *because* you're so smart"?
Justifying what I know to be right, logical, meaningful and nurturing behaviors with the ones I actually display is my current and constant challenge.
And I am yet to be convinced that on the other side of this canyon is a Michele that anyone will recognize, that they'll even be able to see through all the flux.