This is my very first blog post. I started because I wanted to rid my mind of the constant racing thoughts that frankly, make me feel like I’ve lost my mind. But I did not attempt to actually write until this very moment. When I am about to study for my Pharmacology test. I feel anxious, on edge. Something’s nagging me, an invisible tug that feels all to real. Why you ask? The silence of a friend, a mean glance from a passerby, an offhand comment. Things in my head. I read into it too much, a language I do not understand.
But tell me, is it really worth it? Is it worth giving away all my power and control on my own mental peace, just because a person does not like me? It suddenly feels childish. I want to erase it and bury my face in the pillow and sob. What good will that do?
I recently have taken up running. It makes me feel alive. The rush of those feel good hormones. I want to pocket those emotions, keep them bottled up in a pretty mason jar twinkling with fairy lights. Bit by bit, I want to learn to accept my own self. It feels impossible. When I think of Huma, I picture a rather large nose, introversion, low self confidence and anxiety. If anxiety took the form of a human, it would look like me.
I am aware of the good parts of me. And when I think about them I stop, as if I don’t deserve to mull over the things I like about myself. It’s like a warning goes off in my head. I don’t have access to the VIP lounge of my own club!
Let me give you a background story. I fell in love with a guy. I fell in love with the way he carried his tall frame with such ease. He claimed the space around him so effortlessly, it was second nature to him. And just as I knew deep down, it happened eventually. We became strangers. He told me we were poles apart, and yes we were but do you remember S? Do you remember that one time you said you loved me in another tongue? And how my hand fit perfectly in yours and the day we walked around the block and I felt like I belonged with you and such a fool I’ve been. A fool to love another soul and neglecting my own so brutally. Never feeling like I belonged to myself and never kind to my heart. It felt like a knife twisting my gut, as I fell down the hole the size of a crater that I dug into the ground of my own existence.
Is it really worth it? To hesitate for feeling good in my own skin. Is it really worth shrinking the magnitude of my own accomplishments and shrinking. To a small point.
I’ve decided to write love letters to myself. I will bring my self flowers and give my heart the room to wander. Find myself in my old books and new books, and old songs and new songs. Laugh till I can no longer breathe and cry if I need to. But just to let go of the bad. I think of my tears as the toxic waste that needs to be removed. I’ll do it with a sigh so content it will fill my lungs with magic. I will find my worth.