Moving. Moving on.

I moved again. I packed up my little house of fur and things, and trekked to another place to fill with echoes.

In the moving, I found all these old report cards from when I was a child. 7 or 8 years old. And even then, I was not kind to myself.

Hidden in between all the normal silliness of my nature – Jessie likes to talk, Jessie should entertain, Jessie should pay more attention in class, Jessie tries really hard and is a hard worker – in between all of that…

Jessie lacks self confidence.

Jessie is unsure of herself too often.

Jessie is loud.

How can an 8 year old already be so consumed with doubt, that they start to find ways to hide their nature.

How on earth can an 8 year old already be told that she does not properly fit the mold? To try harder. To fit in.

In the memory of all the things that I hold on to – I can’t remember what made me this way. Was I born like this? Doubting. Consumed with never being enough. Tortured by the power I give to others.

I just know that as I was then – so I am now.

I try really, really hard. But I give my power away too often. Too eagerly. Too quickly.

So I find solace in the solitude.

In fur.

In echoes.

In silence.

 

terry-pratchett-quotes

I saw Hope today.

Today, I saw Hope.

I have already seen Grace and Faith in Town. Both of them Gifts that could so easily have been missed and overlooked.

Lost in the busy and the noise and the life that we live. Lost in the numbness of humanity.

Today was much like any other day. I got up, fed the things I love, drove the farm roads to work.

Today, I categorically did not feel like going to gym. From the moment I woke, I fought my own head.

“It’s cold.”

“It’s too early for this today.”

“I am so tired.”

“My ankle is sore.”

“My back is sore.”

“I have a sniff, people in the office are sick, I am probably well on my way to another session of cortisone / hospital.”

“I don’t want to.”

Sometimes, the thoughts in my head win. Sometimes, I fall back into bad habits and negative ideas and a uniquely twisted reality that is all mine, finely crafted from years of being way harder than I need to be on myself.

Precision honed to be cutting, demotivating, devastating and soul crushing.

There it is.

“I don’t want to.” Because what is the point? I have been doing this for a month and a half. And I have not lost 1 kilogram. Because everything is weight to me. And weight is everything to me.

“I don’t want to.” Even though I can climb a flight of stairs faster now, than I did a month and a half ago.

Even though I love it and it makes me feel like I am accomplishing something.

Even though every step is a journey to better. To healthier. To stronger.

I don’t want to. Because today it was just hard. Hard to be positive. Hard to be kind to myself. Hard to be motivated. Hard to be me.

Every step into the office a fight to convince myself that I am worth it. It is worth it. Get up and get going.

I am not sure why today was so hard. It just was.

Even when I was sitting taking my takkies off at Redemption Fitness Centre, my head was still at war with itself.

“You know you are probably getting sick so why bother?”

“You know you will fail in the long run, like you always do, so why not just give up?”

“You know you look especially large today and all the beautiful people are going to stare at you right?”

You get the idea.

And don’t get me wrong. None of these are formulated thoughts that run through my head. These are all just dark and oppressive snippets of thought, accompanied by the overwhelming weight of sadness and desolation.

I sat in the stillness of my heart and my mind and looked into the darkness that lives so very close to the edge of my soul, and I thought about letting it engulf me again. I thought about failing again.

Instead. I stood and looked out into the lit darkness beyond the windows. I thought about my path and who I am and where I am.

Again – none of it consciously formulated into structure. Just snippets of an idea and a feeling of light. Of potential calm. Of cleansing tears.

A moment in a moment where the dark of my soul fought the light of my soul. And I found a bit of Hope.

Hope for better. Lighter. Love. Laughter. Joy. God. Peace. Family. Strength.

Hope for me. For who I am. Who I have become.

Who I will be.

Hope. Just for me.

Sometimes God lives closer to you than you think.

Bucket List

I have a bucket list.

Things that I have always wanted to do / see / experience.

Nothing that I have ever really thought about in detail. Just vague ideas that have survived my brain for 39 years.

It is not a very long list. Nor is it in any particular order. But it is still my list.

  • I want to see The Smoke that Thunders. I want to feel the spray on my face. Just simply because it is called The Smoke that Thunders.
  • I want to take a cruise from Seattle / Vancouver up to Glacier Bay National Park.  I have always thought that white desolate cold to be one of the most beautiful places in the world.
  • I want to take an epic train journey. Either the Canadian which travels over the Rocky Mountains or the Trans-Siberian which travels from Pacific Ocean and St. Petersburg and from which you can explore the Russian Arctic, the Silk Road or Moscow.
  • I want to explore Africa in all its majesty. From Windhoek to Dar Es Salaam. Perhaps even by train (Rovos Rail).
  • I want to skydive. Just because I want to fly.
  • I want new, smaller boobs. Because having big un’s in not all it is cracked up to be.
  • I want to ride horses again. Because as a child – that is when I felt the most free.
  • I want to buy my own house. It doesn’t have to be very big or majestic. It must perhaps have a pool, definitely a garden, and the normal basics. And it must be mine to do with as I please.
  • I want to write a book. About everything. And nothing. And the bits in between.
  • I want to come off all the meds and feel healthy. And if you are someone who has never really fully felt healthy due to weight, health or physical issues – then you know why this is on my bucket list.

Malachai

Once upon a time a little girl that was born 9 years too late. She was an oopsie.

She was born into an angry family.

A mother that was so insecure she was jealous of her eldest daughter’s relationship with her father. A father that was not strong enough to stand up to his wife. A physically broken brother. An emotionally shut down sister.

She grew up ignored. Alone. Isolated.

She taught herself to read and by grade 1 was arguing with her teacher about whether Little Women was appropriate reading material or not.

She taught herself to be. To be loved and wanted in a world that only existed for her.

In her mind. In her soul.

A world filled with loyalty and honour and friends and love and hugs and daring bravery.

A world filled with violent blue and black skies and creatures filled with humour and courage.

A world the complete opposite of reality.

Reality was lonely.

Alone.

Filled with fear and timidness and no voice.

No life and no soul.

Reality was blocked out – to this day, she does not remember it. She refuses to remember it. It was not physical. Nor was it sexual. It was just pure neglect. Emotional. And something more. Something there is no name for. It was… non existence.

She played with the animals on the farm. She climbed the trees. She roamed the day and the night and no one saw her.

She grew a bit wild. And her teachers didn’t care. They punished her for being smart. They punished her for being different.

She roamed the wild places, and filled it with safety. The safety of intangible. The safety of what her mind could control.

And one day, she imagined freedom. And it was powerful and dark and scary and life and soul and blue and black and purple and swirling mist and love.

It was Unicorn.

His name was Malachai.

His name is Malachai.

And he is her memory of life.

Her memory of living.

And he took her from the dark places and showed her the light in her soul.

He lived the fear with her. He lived the tears with her. And he was where she kept her sanity.

He is where she keeps her sanity.

She etched him on her body, when she was old enough.

And she keeps his name, his courage, his shadow close.

Because he is life to her.

Freedom.

Power.

Courage.

He is her.