I’ve been sort of slowing and begrudgingly begun talking it all out with myself. Why I left, why I’m starting my life as I am. All of the things I swept under the rug, all the things I pushed into the closet to make things okay.
I felt like everything had to be okay.
I am a capricious woman. It’s in my blood. Whereas I may be perfectly content to spend a moment sitting in silence, in the next moment, I will need something very different to sate my whims. And I do need to be sated.
Okay is not generally an acceptable descriptor of mood to me. It is not a typical mode of operation for me. I fly into fits of rage as often as I feel perfectly content with the state of the universe. There are days when my smiles look quite like frowns, days when I can’t be bothered to get upset, days when I don’t feel up to setting foot outside my room. But I do not have days where everything is “okay.”
I need to feel at home in my life, I need to feel like my highs and lows are acknowledged and understood and I need to feel like I’m not slowly becoming a stranger in my own house.
And I need to feel passion going both ways.
I hope that’s okay.