Flick by Matt Noble
On the good days, I can see it. Off in the distance. Sometimes. Existing in a country that doesn't give a flying fuck about its citizens, it's easy to lose sight of yourself and what you want to accomplish. But, you know, sometimes.
Sometimes, it's just a matter of degrees. The ticks between the person I am and the person I could be; the person I can be. The person that can accept the complexities of people without having to dive into a frantic dash to figure them out so I can feel safe. A being that doesn't burn so much energy every day considering the worst possible scenarios with the people around me so I can be prepared. A human that does not interrogate any affirming proclamations to see how false and impermanent they are. Because they have to be, right?
No, I'm not always like this. I'm not always an inmate in my own personal constructed surveillance state. I don't always exist in a state of constant vigilance, trying to predict threats before they happen. Sometimes, I can make a different decision.
But sometimes, I find the pull of my insecurities and trauma to be gravitational, irresistible in its consistency. And it pulls me into old patterns of crisis, where I over-compensate and set up boundaries wrapped in barb-wire. I don't do what I know is healthy. I do what I know works. I've had a lot of practice recovering from catastrophe and there's a specific comfort in that.
I can often see the person that has put these behaviors away. The person that doesn't need to police themselves in such a way that defines how they interact with other people. The person that can just exist in what they are because they know they are enough. More than.
I can see them waiting patiently, lovingly encouraging keep going. Because that person is me. But sometimes, I lose of that. And my challenge is to figure out why.
To be continued