TRUTH from my wise friend, V. Love her.
…the other day, that familiar Trinidadian phrase popped into my mind. I literally laughed out loud when it happened because it pretty much summed up the last 5 years of my life. I didn’t even realise that phrase had become my personal motto. A subliminal mantra.
I’m working on finding that mystical balance between vulnerability and…whatever the hell you would call this weird, ambiguous manner I’ve developed. I teeter constantly, but I’m still not able to steady myself. Letting go of the so-called “stability” paranoia deceptively offers is difficult. I’ve spent so much time not trusting others, I’ve almost forgotten how to trust myself and my ability to do what is right for me.
This experience is uncomfortable as fuck, but I will continue to allow myself to open up and dwell in that awkward space of unprotected exposure.
another awesome weekend under my belt.
out with the old. in with the new. that’s the motto.
my spring/summer shopping is 40% complete.
plans are brewing. i love escape routes.
The Youngin’ has managed to win me over completely. Hilarious.
I’m missing my siStars & bruhs. Can’t wait until July.
This summer will be “The Summer of Honanigans” © @mizcity.
insomnia is not kicking my ass as much anymore. winning. sleeping.
1. to fall or slip back into a former state, practice, etc.: to relapse into silence.
2. to fall back into illness after convalescence or apparent recovery.
3. to fall back into vice, wrongdoing, or error; backslide: to relapse into heresy.
By definition, I had a relapse. There’s something about experiencing that kind of wicked pleasure that can be addicting. Something so wrong it could never be mistaken for being right, but you do it anyway. Again. And again. And again. And again. Until the thrill becomes blindingly overwhelming. You can’t see anything else.
Then you stop…abruptly. In that brief moment of clarity, when your integrity suddenly reappears and reminds you of who you were before this “drug” began surging through every vein, every fiber; you realise it wasn’t the person, but the actual experience.
Yet still that gentle urge remains, begging in faint whispers to take another hit of that thrill; another injection of pleasure. For old times sake. Some submit. Some are strong enough to abstain.
Relapsing is forgivable. Relapsing is understandable. And, if you don’t acquiesce, it can make you stronger.