There are times that I wish I could let myself fall apart more. Somehow, those are never the times when I actually am falling apart. I will stop myself from falling apart even if it means a permanent ending to everything. The times I fall apart are like the short breaks between bricks. The places where the grout lays.
Clearly, there is more brick than grout, but without the grout the bricks most likely would topple over and never stand or do the job they are typically created to do….and I’m not getting into physics and the possibility of that. I know there must be exceptions to needing grout out there somewhere. But I’m talking about what I know.
I don’t actually know that much about construction and building materials either, but that also doesn’t really matter right now.
My point is that I need to fall apart, but I also need to stay together. I have to be both the brick and the mortar. (Oh yeah, I think mortar is what it’s called? Grout is for stuff like ceramic tiles, right??? I don’t know. But this is also not the point.)
I’m trying to understand myself.
I just know that sometime I lose it. I fall apart and I fall apart Big. But not often enough. But falling apart just once is too much!
I feel so stuck.
Maybe I just need to take down the wall. Maybe I don’t need more (or less) falling apart.
Maybe I just need no more walls.
Fear is the glue. (Glue now, not grout or mortar.)
Fear is static and unmoving. Fear causes crumbling. Fear leads to crashing.
I know I’m speaking in weird metaphors that probably don’t even go together. It”s hard to face where I am in this–because I don’t really know where I am. And this is part of the whole issue.
Am I strong? Am I weak? Am I needy? Am I too much? Am I not enough?
I need help. I can’t do this alone. I can’t be the wall and decide about what to do with the wall at the same time. There are too many directions at once. Repair it? Take it down? Keep some, change some?
I don’t know what to do with me right now.
I’m used to being it all. The brick, the mortar, the builder and the one who climbs on, around or over the wall when it’s all done.
The problem is…it’s never done.
It’s a lot of upkeep now and it complicates life rather than making it necessarily better.
But the prospect of subbing (sub-contracting) this out is end-of-the-world frightening.
It means trusting, at least a little bit, and not being entirely in control of where things go, at least for a little bit. I can still sort of have a say about things, but, in a way…I have to step back.
I write this like I have a choice about doing this.
It’s really already happening without me.
The memories are breaking through my wall(s). People morph in and out of the reality of who they really are. It’s hard to keep track of past and present.
I’m rattled all the time. I tremor. My fine motor skills are already gone and I worry about it progressing to more major movements like even walking or standing.
So I write this like I have a choice about letting-go.
The death-grip I’ve had on my life isn’t working anymore.