My cheeks are wet, and it’s easy to assume that it’s because mascara got into my eyes (and not because I’m small or unsure, or because it still saddens me to think of where I was this time last year). My feet hurt and it’s easy to assume that it’s because I walked in my skyscraper high heels for hours (and not because I am constantly wandering, searching for elusive answers).
I have to get up for work in five hours and twenty-nine minutes so obviously this is an excellent time to write a new post.
I am twenty-six. For the first time in years, I feel young. I am a baby. Life is only beginning. So far it has only been growing pains.
Harbouring pain makes you a pain.
My favourite moment of the Royal wedding (the little I caught of it), was the moment when they had just been married and the world was singing to them. Kate’s (or should I say ‘Catherine’s’?) face was calm and dignified but, if you look closely, you can see her chest rising and falling; the telltale sign of an anxious heartbeat. I loved that. I warmed to the humanity of her nervousness.
Tonight my eyes slid around the room watching people be. I felt detached. Metaphysically speaking, I was slightly raised. I watched people but I think that, even if I’d reached out and touched them -literally touched them- I wouldn’t have connected. Sometimes reality is intangible, and truth and logic, and all those other practical concepts we need to feel alive, blur into some alternate reality.
It’s quite possible that I had an out-of-body experience the other day. I didn’t realise until I felt what can only be described as my soul slamming itself back into my body. It lasted mere seconds; it shook me.
For me, peace is not about being happy. Peace is not being scared of life, not feeling a weight pushing me down, not feeling anxious about whether or not someone thought my words were slightly abrupt. I don’t need to be happy, I just need to be.. I just need to be able to hope.
I am learning to be human. I am learning how to be in a bad mood, and how it’s okay to be average sometimes. My mother said, ‘You look fine,’ and I stormed out, yelling, ‘You might as well tell me I’m average!’
I don’t do fine. I don’t do average.
But there’s that niggling fear… what if I am? What if I am just an imposter?
Sleep is relief.
You know, I want to be somebody.