Indulgent

It's raining again. I'm drinking again. Everything in its inappropriate time. I have the nauseating feeling of missing someone. Not really missing any particular person, just missing. The closest feeling I can compare it to would be when you are driving away from home and you feel like you forgot something. You don't know what it is or if you forgot anything at all. But the feeling persists, it gnaws and makes you second guess yourself. You're on your way someplace, you can't go home, and you don't.

That's how I feel. There isn't anyway to fix this.

I was reading Neruda the other day and remembered what it sounded like when my boyfriends had read it to me.

Today, before it rained, I was smoking my cigarette outside. I didn't have any shoes or socks on. I took a drag of my cigarette, outstretched my arms and closed my eyes. I exhaled. My feet were cold on the sidewalk. There was no one around to tell me to put socks on. There is no one around to tell me to go to bed.

I don't feel sad. Maybe a little. I don't regret whatever decisions I've made that have brought me to this point.

It was years ago when I felt fearless, chaotic and powerful. I took a few years to be scattered, reckless and afraid. I'm ok now. I am whoever I am without regrets, asking for no one's permission or approval and comparing myself to no one. I don't seek forgiveness or redemption. I guess this is what it feels like to get up after you've fallen down.

I was fearless because I had never gotten hurt.
I was chaotic because I thought control meant controlled by
I was powerful because I refused to believe I could be anything other than that.

I was scattered because I was scared and didn't want to face it.
I was reckless because I wanted to feel something other than fear.
I was afraid because I had been hurt and I didn't know I could be anything other than that.

And now?

I'm recovering.