Monday, 17 November 2014

September.

It is as though, I have turned around all of a sudden and become the woman- the grown up...I was always running from. Grown. At 32, more certain of all the things I want. Of the people who I love and of those ones who, regardless of how I love them - and no doubt will continue to, must be let go. I wonder what I have. This year...Ahh, this year has been,...so many things.
Hard ? I don't know that the word covers it - doesn't every year have hard parts for fucks sake?
...but this one, was hard in a way that cemented my adulthood firmly in place. So, this is what it is like?
...how old we thought this age was when we were smaller. This age, was teachers, and suits, and grey seriousness...Fucking hell, I never realised how awesome being a grown up would be.(And I always did like a nice suit..) That "adults" are just children playing at being what they think grown ups should be most of the time...How sorry I feel for those who shut that child out of themselves completely, pretend that it never existed at all. Let themselves rot into taxes and waiting for some imminent death.
But I am meandering...Regret. So adult a feeling. "I regret to inform you..."
Regrets, that I have never before allowed myself. (the big regrets...not those tiny ones like...I wish I hadn't eaten that entire tub of ice-cream...)
Because, regrets are things that are done. A regret, well...

 "Never look back unless you are planning to go that way." - Thoreau

Somehow, I always believe that everything is as it should be - no matter the beauty or the pain...
Everything needs to happen, everything must exist as it does. We must make mistakes. We must break. We must marvel in all the terrible realness of the world we live in, of the humans we are.
Go forward, and keep going. No matter what. But this emptiness...
I have been so far into the darkness, but I never looked down to what was in the bottom of my own abyss. I have always been far too terrified of what I was capable of keeping hidden.
Honesty, real gut wrenching honesty. I am obsessed with "truth" yet I do not even allow myself into my most harmful of thoughts. I let them fester in my silence. Pretending I am untouchable.
"A September child..." Just like myself...
 Lately, I see children, and finally now- two months after I would have been, had I not...(ahh..is this regret? or guilt? or can it be called another thing entirely? )
It hits me.
Winds me with such an incredible force. I could have been a Mother. (Wanting to be, or not...that is not the point here...)
You are not meant to think these things, not when you make certain choices. "for the best"
You are meant to just do them, and then go on as though nothing ever happened.
The pain in my gut, the fact I could find no good reason (Because I am not reason enough alone.)
...not even then. Regret ?
Guilt? I did a thing- the right thing? there are so many angles to look at it from.
A selfish choice. Not a wrong thing..But a harshly real thing. A thing I cannot seem to truly justify with a reason from anywhere inside of my self. A "thing"
...Hah! as much of a descriptive term as I allow myself...Honesty...Honesty...Honesty. What reason is there for being if not to be wholly yourself ?
Perhaps it is just comparison, and fear. I think of the age of my Mother when she became a parent.
I think of how different the culture of family...of the individual is now.
Everyone is out for themselves. Everyone thinks there is always something better on its way.
No matter how good what they may have, it's never enough.
We throw away amazing things, amazing people. Because we have ideals, and we are stupid.
We think everything we could ever dream of exists. (maybe it does, and maybe it can...I listen to myself speak- all the while thinking "you, you are not really this cynical... you are a romantic. a dreamer...)
We think, we learn...that we are all of us, made to be super in our own right. (maybe we are, maybe it is our idea of what is super that is the problem)
But it's bullshit.
All of it is bullshit.
I was afraid. That is the only real reason I can fathom.
I was petrified of a child. Myself.

And that fear made me adult.
 

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