I. My therapist asked me how I was yesterday and I shrugged and said “I’m fridge soup”. She understood exactly what I meant by that, and that’s why, seven years in, she’s still my therapist.
II. Leonard has been slowly coming back around, and I am pretty thrilled about it.
I spent a good fifteen minutes trying to lure him closer this morning, which I’m sure is hella boring to watch, but whatever. Here you go.
III. How are you really, though, Effy?
I’m a hermit crossed with a butterfly. I’m the eggshells I’m walking on. I’m a hollowed-out bowl of too many hours. I am saltwater and pumice stone. I am prayers to the moon and candles lit and rusty nails and broken glass.
I am slam poems and nicotine stains. I am reading the same line over and over and still not comprehending. I am an untwinned twin. I am the storm.
I am sound. I am straight. I am upright. I am breathing. I am willing. I am open. I am a fist full of ‘this is the way’ and a heart full of ‘yes, I’m sure’. I am flecked in gold and breaking the chains.
I wake with his name in my mouth.
But I know how to abide.
I know how to abide.
IV. Oh, and I’m writing. So that’s a thing.
V. I have completely stopped chasing people. Completely. Utterly. I am here if I am wanted. People know how to find me. I can’t deal with rejection at all right now without being tossed into the tsunami of a trauma response (read: abyss from which I may never return) so I just do. not. ask. for anything.
And that’s working for now. For now.
I’ll start asking again soon, though.
VI. Today feels jagged and scattered and I can’t find my footing. My heart is a wolf at the door. I am out of body. I am adrift. My compass is spinning. Where is my north star?
VII. They say if you’re lost you should just stay put. Just hunker down and wait it out. Someone will find you.
VIII. *Hunkers down*.
IX. That’s all I’ve got.
X. Wait, though. There’s this.
This thing I have now where people come sit on my lawn to talk and cry and laugh and drink and conspire with me is life.