Diary Entry by: urks io | Illustrations by: Vicky Hughes
I still have my tussles with love - setting myself up for failure and disappointment. It's partial truth, partial fabrication. Maybe they did forget about me, maybe I just wanted to know they were thinking of me and the plans we made. Wanted to know I'm worth remembering. Wanted to know I'm worth calling back from the dead - My (sometimes anxious, sometimes depressive) inner world that sucks me into myself and projects an image of false death to whom ever comes across me. Don't mind me, it's just a phase.
This pattern, this repeating loop, this course of action that draws me toward it like moth to bug zapper, and I know it'll hurt, but hurting is so much safer than letting myself love and receive love. If I can't wallow in my self-made pit of rejection and hurt, then - ?
Why do I bring this upon myself? I want someone to prove me wrong, to wade through all my shit and pull me back toward dry land.
Don't let me drown.
Don't let me drown..
{Urks, you're not drowning. It's like 1 1/2 inches of water, you just have to stand up so you can catch the life vest we're throwing you.}
Oh.
(okay, so then what's the every one else's deal? Are they convinced they're forgotten and alone in this world, too? Are we all just layers of trauma and healing bumping into each other's tender parts, hoping someone will kiss it better when we say "ouch"? How much of this is my own to deal with (all of it)? But how much can I share with others so they know I'm just pre-reacting to anticipated pain (some of it)? How much can I carry with me into a future of overflowing abundance (none of it)? How much can I turn into art and share with others so they know they're not drowning alone (much of it)?)
- urks io, 31
