And you come back home feeling like nothing because your self worth isn’t rooted in your own values or own eyes. It’s not even rooted in your own loneliness, but something else that was bestowed onto you. Gifted to you when you were a mere babe. You come back home questioning why your body doesn’t feel safe or how you even got here. You woke up one day and realized the mirror isn’t the problem. It’s always been you and your need for self-resolve in other people’s throats. You don’t feel like you know who you are or why you are a living vessel because you expect someone else to tell you your own story, to create your own lullabies at night because that way you’ll feel validated by being someone else’s creation. Not your own loneliness, not your own vessel, not your own lullabies, not your own values, and never your own voice.
Never your own voice in these filled up empty hallways in the house you want to abandon. Not your own loneliness when you wish you were somewhere else, someone else doing and feeling something else, feeling someone else’s *something* but your own.
Truth is, you will never escape yourself. You will never find yourself in somewhere else either, and never in a mirror portal into someone else’s eyes. If you can’t see yourself blind, with darkness, no guide, no help, not even a semblance of structure, how can you expect to come back home and want to sleep? How can you expect not to have insomnia when you don’t want to wake up in the morning to the same room, the same walls, the same bed that all holds the memories of you, not someone else’s *something*
When your own value becomes rooted in your own dendrites and eyes, voice, and even the self-created mirror you often place blame & shame onto, maybe then you can move away, at any time, to anyplace, at least to another version of your own loneliness and always feel at home. Maybe then your vessel won’t fail you, won’t make you embarrassed because you remember the emptiness always replenishes; it is never meant to stay with the same fullness and drought you were gifted from someone else’s throat. Why do you want your loneliness to be stuck in someone else’s GI tract? Why must your need to be picked out of people’s teeth be greater than being your own home? When will this exhaust you my dear? When will it be enough to not run away from your own *something*? When will you be enough?
