I have this nasty habit- I'm a picker, a peeler, a scratch-er. I can't leave things alone. No hangnail is safe. Scabs quiver in fear. I undo myself again and again, perpetually prolonging the healing, inflicting scars where tiny scratches would have gladly disappeared. It is disgusting and, I'm sure, rather immature. As I said, I just can't leave things alone.
My lower lip has been dry and peeling for months. Months upon months. If I let it do its well-ordained, biological job it would pull itself together and be spiffy and smooth. Alas, I catch myself chewing on it (gross!) or even mindlessly nagging at it with my fingers. So, this bottom lip of mine remains spotted red with sad little wounds. Peels I can't leave un-pulled. I would slap my own hand if I had the gumption.
If you have suffered through the intensity of Black Swan you will fain to forget the scene wherein Natalie Portman pulls that horrific hangnail all the way up her finger. When I pick at my nail beds Jake often refers to me as the Black Swan- his not-so-subtle way of insinuating I need to cut it out.
All too often I find myself in this vein- frustrated that I remain blistered and broken, when I know darn well the ability to heal is deep seated. I've got it within me. I just can't let myself be unbroken. We're our own worst enemies and all that. And it is more complicated than simply choosing to be happy, choosing to be healthy, embracing joy. Habits are hard things to break and a pity party is the most difficult gathering from which to exit gracefully.
I'm so cozy here in my pathetic little cave of self-doubt, disappointment, and full-on moping.
Sure, there are helpful actions to break the haze- exercise, laughter, camaraderie. A little bit of motivational pep-talking to myself. Getting things done. Eating well. Simple, small, daily steps.
Step, crawl, step.
I want to be happy. There is joy deep seated within me too, holding steady right next to that healing power. It is just that my current act of filtering out that haze, shaking off the funk, and pouring on the glitter is a sloppier one that I've known before. It is more of a pick-heal-pick-heal-pick pattern and I'm waiting for the morning that I'll wake up and realize that the healing got ahead of me and there is no scab left to pick.
On that morning, and in the meantime, I will recite this childhood favorite:
For you shall go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall break forth into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands. (Isaiah 55:12)
My lower lip has been dry and peeling for months. Months upon months. If I let it do its well-ordained, biological job it would pull itself together and be spiffy and smooth. Alas, I catch myself chewing on it (gross!) or even mindlessly nagging at it with my fingers. So, this bottom lip of mine remains spotted red with sad little wounds. Peels I can't leave un-pulled. I would slap my own hand if I had the gumption.
If you have suffered through the intensity of Black Swan you will fain to forget the scene wherein Natalie Portman pulls that horrific hangnail all the way up her finger. When I pick at my nail beds Jake often refers to me as the Black Swan- his not-so-subtle way of insinuating I need to cut it out.
All too often I find myself in this vein- frustrated that I remain blistered and broken, when I know darn well the ability to heal is deep seated. I've got it within me. I just can't let myself be unbroken. We're our own worst enemies and all that. And it is more complicated than simply choosing to be happy, choosing to be healthy, embracing joy. Habits are hard things to break and a pity party is the most difficult gathering from which to exit gracefully.
I'm so cozy here in my pathetic little cave of self-doubt, disappointment, and full-on moping.
Sure, there are helpful actions to break the haze- exercise, laughter, camaraderie. A little bit of motivational pep-talking to myself. Getting things done. Eating well. Simple, small, daily steps.
Step, crawl, step.
I want to be happy. There is joy deep seated within me too, holding steady right next to that healing power. It is just that my current act of filtering out that haze, shaking off the funk, and pouring on the glitter is a sloppier one that I've known before. It is more of a pick-heal-pick-heal-pick pattern and I'm waiting for the morning that I'll wake up and realize that the healing got ahead of me and there is no scab left to pick.
On that morning, and in the meantime, I will recite this childhood favorite:
For you shall go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall break forth into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands. (Isaiah 55:12)
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