An Inadequate Arguement

"The other function of your journal is to show you to yourself"~Kim Addonizio

I have been trying really hard to write happy. I wish it wasn’t so hard. I mean, it isn’t hard to fake it, to write of rainbows and lollipops and unicorns. It just isn’t me.

I am not even sure why it matters so much to me. Why do I want to open my journal and fairy dust fall out. I think the why has to do more with perception then it does with reality.

I am a happy person. I really am. I swear. I am secure and safe. I am not a suicidal serial killer. I am not 13-year-old girl drama. I am not melodramatic or angry or depressed. Ok, maybe a little dramatic. But when I write from my soul, one might think otherwise.

I am trying to come to terms with this. Trying to accept it as just how I am. That it isn’t a sign of depravity, contamination or pollution. I have been trying. Trying really hard.

The following poem that I wrote today does no justice to my argument.

Starved, but not yet hungry
Innate, but not yet inherent
Contagious, but not yet infected

Tangible, tethered.

Autonomous

Stentorian, blatant

Inaudible

Canonical, orthodox

Defiant

Real, but not yet authentic
Permeable, but not yet translucent
Transitional, but not yet altered

Surreal

The feeling is surreal.
How could I have known you for so long, yet not?
My first reaction was to be angry.
Why didn’t anyone show me this you?
Why didn’t anyone tell me that there was a different way?

I was taught to admire and adore and to worship you.
To praise you and to pray to you.
To trust you and to fear you.
I was told to love you.
I was never told I could be in love with you.

I have spent so much time trying to do it right.
Trying to make it look right.
Forcing it.
Manipulating it.
Faking it.
It looked right.
It felt all wrong.

I’ll never forget the first time it was different.
Emmaus Road changed the way I saw you.
In dark, quiet room I experienced you in a way I never knew was possible.
There were at least 20 other people there, and yet I was alone with you.
It was more then sensing you.
It was feeling you. Hearing and touching and tasting you.
In a way I didn’t even know was possible.
It was life changing.
It was amazing.
It was terrifying.
But it was real.

There have been times since that night.
In a book, in a song, in worship services.
Alone and with other people, it has happened.
It is still just as amazing, just as real.
But with it come less fear and more longing.

Longing for it not to stop.
Craving that it lasts.
Praying that I don’t give up.
That I don’t come up with enough excuses to make the old way enough.
Needing to remember that it wasn’t you that changed.
You were always there.
You were waiting for me.
Waiting for me to change.