most days, my mind feels as though it is on the tip of my tongue; close, so close i could almost taste it, but never quite close enough. i know it is there, pulsing, heavy, full of all the somethings and everythings and nothings all at once, but when i grasp for the strings hoping i can pull it apart into unraveling, i am left with bleeding fingers and the knowing that there is more, more, more that i just simply cannot feel. more that i cannot think and know and breathe, because it never leaves the tip of my tongue. it never finds me. we never find each other. tied up and hidden, i remain empty.
days like today i feel consumed with this knowing, this knowing of all the things i do not know and cannot speak, and it threatens to swallow me whole. fighting for breath between the words that never make it past my throat, yet never make room enough for me to escape. days like today i am full and empty all at once, and ever so aware that my struggling mind just past the point of return is what keeps me hidden, disconnected, and alone. days like today i just wish i could find the words, feel everything nestled just inches too deep within my chest, and unravel the tangled strings of my foggy mind until i am heaving and shaking but undeniably known.
known, and the very opposite of alone.
days like today i sit in therapy offices and pray that emotion finds me. why oh why is it that i only seem to feel when it is dark, when the night is too heavy, when there is nobody to hold my knots and my hands are already shaking, my fingers already raw? why can’t i seem to feel when connection is right there in front of me?
and now, i sit here alone, deciding to put words onto a page for nobody but myself. because snarled knots in the chest is no way to live. because a mind on the tip of a tongue is no way to heal.
and so i begin. unraveling.
unraveling the grief of yet another loss. another soul stolen from this world who’d seen far too few sunrises, taken far too few breaths of the crisp autumn air, lived with far too much fear and desperation in her heart. another soul ripped from this world by the wrath of her eating disorder, her lungs crushed under her last ounces of strength. another loss that makes my heart shatter and scream and cut like knives through the seemingly unending darkness. a loss that makes me question if i deserve to continue on, alive, at all. the crippling guilt of, once again, surviving.
unraveling the shame of an ended friendship after a night of clothes on the floor and hands in places i never wished any hands would ever be. a night of panic so immense i believed the moon would crush my skull into the earth; a night of wishing that it would. a night of disgust so boundless that i could not feel my body and could not fathom how i would ever be human again. tainted. ruined. my existence shattered. a night of wishing i would never awaken. a night of not understanding how this could, to any soul, ever feel okay, because it made me long to shred this body to pieces. this body that i could never, ever be safe within.
unraveling the fear of having an inked tattoo upon my body to remind me of that night, the nausea rising in my throat every time i get undressed, the summer sun beating down upon thick sweaters permeating through the sweat caused by despair. i keep covered and i swallow my self-hatred because every time i look down to see those black looped lines my eyes shed salt and i pray that tonight, tonight i’ll have the strength to carve so deeply that they release me from their prison.
unraveling the strings between close to death and close to life, but walking the line weighted down by one million wounding fears.
unraveling the strings between empty and full, everything and nothing, collecting my pieces along the way.
and here i am, on a day like today, unraveling the tangled strings of my foggy mind until i am heaving and shaking but undeniably known. known by possibly nobody besides myself and this once empty page, but i trust that the universe listens, and leaves me never completely alone. i am raw, sitting quietly in my own dark, not a soul awake in my creaking wood house, but i am never completely alone.
and neither are you.
so, in your own painful silence, or your own resounding scream, allow yourself to unravel.
it is only here that you will find your mind again, like a lost word yearning to be remembered, understood, spoken.
here, you will find yourself.
unravel. unravel. unravel.