Tuesday, 13 August 2013
Return of the Edit button
I've discovered a problem that has been sat in my peripheral awareness for a little while now. I'm blogging to try and understand why but also to perhaps- maybe exorcise some of it's hold..
It's the edit button. The backspace has become my best friend.. Delete, cancel, click away anything I might say or express. Coupled with the existent restlessness it's a little frustrating, but it might just be that my subconscious is working more above ground than usual. And because of that, the only thing that forms is a distinct odd feeling within my gut, swirling with something between alarm and sadness. Those dormant formations are just fractal images, bits and pieces of memories and unfinished thoughts. They are voiceless and confusing, and it is hard to know where in my conscious growth they fit- so I guess it would stand to reason that much of the process would be hard to understand. I think just becoming accustomed to holding those pieces, and just reminding myself that regardless of whether I understand WHY they exist, but the fact that they exist anyway- is where I might find a little acceptance. Just sitting with not knowing, will give me a little quiet in my mind.
And perhaps the bigger problem with the edit button is the fierce return of my inner critic. The prevalence of 'you can't say that.' or 'don't make waves...be invisible, and don't draw attention.'- those are the main contenders for why I'm having trouble expressing any verbiage at all, to anyone. I'm remembering that wish to just disappear and fly to safety, just be able to live and not afraid to be out in public...but I'm realizing that in disappearing, I've actually made that same fear worse. None of this is really making any sense, but to elaborate a little- I moved back to be safe, and to leave behind harm and a few people that did harm, I moved to get back on my feet. I went quiet not as to alienate everyone that I love, but for the fear of those who I've found since that weren't ever without their own agenda, I was just naive. I wanted to reclaim my privacy. I wanted to reclaim some form of my life on my own terms. But instead I just grew afraid to speak.
This isn't the first time this has happened, but maybe this has cycled back a second time for a reason. Something is holding my mouth shut, and it's own forceful messages are stronger at my mouth and fingertips and in my behaviour than my own sentience at the moment. If I look at what insecurities those messages are signposting towards, I might finally be able to speak again properly.
And this was a first step.