Fragility
I'm working on a ghost story to share in the next week, but as I'm letting the story tell itself to me, I keep rounding back on one word, over and over, "Fragile."
What, exactly is fragile?
It means something delicate, something that will break if we aren't gentle with it, something small, or fine in nature, like a tea cup or a flower. We also use the word to talk about people, children are fragile, dreams are fragile, kittens are fragile, health can be fragile.
The way I see it, many time I am fragile.
Oh, I'll never tell you when I'm feeling especially breakable. You'll never see it in my attitude, physical actions or voice. You'll never know if you don't really know me. Even then you have to know what to look for, what to see and be able to notice what isn't there.
Fragility is a scary attribute to have. I think it's more terrifying to admit it. I believe that everyone alive has something fragile about them; we just don't tell anyone-- and often we don't even tell ourselves.
I'm having a really hard time accepting my fragility.
Physically I'm unchanged. Lost some weight, because it happens. Health is good; still eating good food and trying to get exercise. Sleeping ok for the most part. Over all I'd say I'm healthy.
Emotionally, I'm feeling pretty strong. I mean that I'm still working to learn, to explore, to write and to read. To truly live, to share my thoughts on this or that, to be, right now, in the moment. To love others and myself, to laugh and share, to enjoy the company of my loved ones, my friends, my partner.
Mentally, though, I'm feeling as fragile as the wine glasses in my cupboard; delicate as the Czech tea set; chipped and cracked like the shot glass I've moved across the country a dozen times over 20 years.
Every time I think I've made progress as climbing out of this hole of depression, something will turn me around, spin my brains, make me feel set back as if I have to start all over. Even taking a deep breath, sitting myself down for "a talk", and knowing I haven't fallen all the way back down, doesn't change the way I feel.
I feel like I'm still trying to hold my pieces together, that I need some gorilla glue, lock-tight, something! I don't know how strong a person has to be to do this, every day, in and out, forever. I want to let go, let my bits fly off, into the unknown, and say, "Fuck this shit. I don't need those parts."
But I need them. They aren't the bits of me that I can live without. They aren't the Peanut Gallery, the self-hate, the insecurities, the fear or discomfort. The parts I'm trying to hang on to, the parts I'm dying to hang on to, are the parts of me that love, laugh, live and learn; the bits of me that adore life, that want to know everything, that accept others, and myself, unconditionally.
The bits of me I'm trying to hang on to are my Survivor parts. The parts of me that have come through hellfire and while scorched, are whole, tempered, stronger and vibrant. The parts of me that shine with the inner fire of myself; the parts of me that are precious to me. Those bits want to fly off.
Forgive me, as I'm experiencing this fragility. I'm trying to give myself the grace and love that I've always given so readily to others. I'm trying to love myself, cracks and all...
It's really fucking hard. And it means I have to love the fragile parts of me. The parts I try to protect, cover, keep hidden, never let anyone see.
Every year on my birthday I choose a resolution. I figure that if I did it on New Year's Day I'd ignore it, but setting aside a little time on my birthday to reflect on the past year, and the coming one, I can decide where I need to go and how I want to get there.
My new year resolution for my 39th year, in 2016, is specifically to help me with my fragility; to accept it, and to learn to celebrate it.
Today, I resolve to be gentle with myself, to gift myself with the grace that I offer to others without condition, to love myself, my everything, especially the parts of my that I consider unlovable.
I'm going to resolve this, every goddamned day if I have to, until I get there. Until my fragility is merely another contrary, adorable, amazing and wonderful part of myself. Until I can celebrate it along with my head for words, my love of cats, my love of good friends and food. Until I can accept that fragile doesn't mean worthless, doesn't mean less, doesn't mean broken or fucked up.
Fragile merely means delicate-- I can be delicate.
What, exactly is fragile?
It means something delicate, something that will break if we aren't gentle with it, something small, or fine in nature, like a tea cup or a flower. We also use the word to talk about people, children are fragile, dreams are fragile, kittens are fragile, health can be fragile.
The way I see it, many time I am fragile.
Oh, I'll never tell you when I'm feeling especially breakable. You'll never see it in my attitude, physical actions or voice. You'll never know if you don't really know me. Even then you have to know what to look for, what to see and be able to notice what isn't there.
Fragility is a scary attribute to have. I think it's more terrifying to admit it. I believe that everyone alive has something fragile about them; we just don't tell anyone-- and often we don't even tell ourselves.
I'm having a really hard time accepting my fragility.
Physically I'm unchanged. Lost some weight, because it happens. Health is good; still eating good food and trying to get exercise. Sleeping ok for the most part. Over all I'd say I'm healthy.
Emotionally, I'm feeling pretty strong. I mean that I'm still working to learn, to explore, to write and to read. To truly live, to share my thoughts on this or that, to be, right now, in the moment. To love others and myself, to laugh and share, to enjoy the company of my loved ones, my friends, my partner.
Mentally, though, I'm feeling as fragile as the wine glasses in my cupboard; delicate as the Czech tea set; chipped and cracked like the shot glass I've moved across the country a dozen times over 20 years.
Every time I think I've made progress as climbing out of this hole of depression, something will turn me around, spin my brains, make me feel set back as if I have to start all over. Even taking a deep breath, sitting myself down for "a talk", and knowing I haven't fallen all the way back down, doesn't change the way I feel.
I feel like I'm still trying to hold my pieces together, that I need some gorilla glue, lock-tight, something! I don't know how strong a person has to be to do this, every day, in and out, forever. I want to let go, let my bits fly off, into the unknown, and say, "Fuck this shit. I don't need those parts."
But I need them. They aren't the bits of me that I can live without. They aren't the Peanut Gallery, the self-hate, the insecurities, the fear or discomfort. The parts I'm trying to hang on to, the parts I'm dying to hang on to, are the parts of me that love, laugh, live and learn; the bits of me that adore life, that want to know everything, that accept others, and myself, unconditionally.
The bits of me I'm trying to hang on to are my Survivor parts. The parts of me that have come through hellfire and while scorched, are whole, tempered, stronger and vibrant. The parts of me that shine with the inner fire of myself; the parts of me that are precious to me. Those bits want to fly off.
Forgive me, as I'm experiencing this fragility. I'm trying to give myself the grace and love that I've always given so readily to others. I'm trying to love myself, cracks and all...
It's really fucking hard. And it means I have to love the fragile parts of me. The parts I try to protect, cover, keep hidden, never let anyone see.
Every year on my birthday I choose a resolution. I figure that if I did it on New Year's Day I'd ignore it, but setting aside a little time on my birthday to reflect on the past year, and the coming one, I can decide where I need to go and how I want to get there.
My new year resolution for my 39th year, in 2016, is specifically to help me with my fragility; to accept it, and to learn to celebrate it.
Today, I resolve to be gentle with myself, to gift myself with the grace that I offer to others without condition, to love myself, my everything, especially the parts of my that I consider unlovable.
I'm going to resolve this, every goddamned day if I have to, until I get there. Until my fragility is merely another contrary, adorable, amazing and wonderful part of myself. Until I can celebrate it along with my head for words, my love of cats, my love of good friends and food. Until I can accept that fragile doesn't mean worthless, doesn't mean less, doesn't mean broken or fucked up.
Fragile merely means delicate-- I can be delicate.
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