SFD Take 1

Let’s see how this goes.

My Shitty First Draft captured in a forgotten blog.

Let’s see how this goes.

I stretch, and twist, and turn and whirl. Bubbly throat and knotted stomach. The sprinkles of light inside me that grow and grow and grow, strung along with connected tears. My “ugly” cry is something that has been hidden and forbidden. Cast and trashed. Doesn’t mark my true character. It is the rage that lives inside, the scars that never die, the wound that doesn’t heal.

Let’s see how this goes.

Sometimes it doesn’t work when you try so hard to live, to adult, to be good. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, the only thing that really feels good and vindicates your troubled mind is maybe throwing a rock in the window of the house that you built. Sometimes, giving up seems enticing because you’re exhausted from “fighting the good fight.”

So we’ll see how this goes.

Because it’s hard. All of it is hard. Whole-hearted living bears down on the soul because it’s hard on you. It’s hard on the softest parts of you. It leaves you tender when you fall. Your face gets muddled up and scratched with wounds that don’t seem to heal. When you dare greatly, sometimes it doesn’t always work. You get laughed at, scolded, and flashes of anger dance in front of you, in the form of someone you love. Someone you trust. And it isn’t fair. None of it is fair. But they say life isn’t supposed to be fair. Just unpredictable and wild.

So we’ll see how this goes.

Which of all this do I deserve? Do I deserve to love, to be loved, to do good, to be good? Do I deserve to be okay with the me I see in the mirror, or the me he sees through the glass of his eyes? What could be handled if I let it all hang out, let it all show and let it all shine, and rot, in front of people? What could be handled? Would I still be worthy? Would I still have people? Would I still have my tribe? What would it all look like?

So we’ll see how this goes.

By the end of the day, I am exhausted. I am exhausted of holding it all up, keeping my head high, carefully straining and carefully cocking my head, in a thoughtful, compassionate, loving manner. I’m exhausted and I want to sleep the pain away. Sleep the doubt away. Sleep the uncertainty away. Sleep the pseudo-confidence away. The edge of despair meets the cusp of hope. Somewhere, the two intertwine and mix and become beautiful, inseparable, and foreboding.

So I guess we’ll see how this goes.