Wake The Fuck Up

First off, I will say that yelling and saying FUCK is neither wholesome nor badass.  This is a point of departure for me, not my final destination.  I am a work in progress…Unlearning and reparenting myself requires revisiting the pain from the past which threatens to haunt the present if I do not identify and unhook from the myths of my childhood experience.

When I was still quite young, I generally felt insignificant and doubted my actual existence….suspecting, wondering perhaps if I did, but only as part of someone else’s dream. I longed terribly for my dreamer to wake, so I could be finished with not mattering.  As a college student, in possession of my very own answering machine (back in the day), I was able to listen to my own outgoing message(repeatedly), as affirmation of a voice that could be heard, if only by me.  I see now why I resorted to excessive volume and profanity in response to life with those in our “family” home.  When you either cannot be heard or what you say has no value……

Later I discovered the comfort of sniffing repeatedly at my own wrists.  Applying Egyptian Musk or Lavender Oil each morning; scents that I knew, preferred and chose for myself, developed into ritualistic attempts at self soothing from the pain of my questionable existence.  As a one whom is intensely affected by sensory input, those scents– purchased and applied by me were at times, proof enough.  Smells don’t lie!   Confident of my existence today, I seek serenity; serenity in the form of complete abstinence from those attempting to erase or diminish me; discounting my presence and worthiness.  I matter.  I am real.  I am worthy of love and connection and reserve myself for those whom share these sentiments.  I am awake and connected deeply to a power greater than THEM myself.  The god-less existence was a nightmare.