Do you ever think about how profound smiles are? I'd say I smile wholeheartedly. I've learned over the years that every smile has a story behind it. Some smiles are stronger than others and are able to hold up intricate facades. Some are visibly colored with pain and anguish. But all of them, are beautiful in their own way. Living out my own story has allowed me to open my eyes up to the many unique smiles that I'm surrounded by. It's impossible for me to see things strictly on a surface level anymore. Some may see that as intuition or an expression of empathy. And while that may be true, I also see it as experience.
Everyone has a story, that shapes the way that they understand reality.
I hope to lend an ear to anyone that may come my way in the need to share theirs.
The past few days have been better than I am used to. I am accustomed to my life being in shambles most of the time, and that is in no way meant to be a pitiful consideration. I think I need to own my differences and grow from them. I do believe that I've come a long way, despite all the wounds that are ripped open far too often, and the scars on my soul that never seem to fade. The past few weeks I wanted to ask the universe or anyone who would listen:
Haven't I done my time? Sadness is too familiar of a friend for my liking. Just as I had scrounged up the little strength that I could to put myself back together, I broke again. It seems as if I'm barely recovered from one trauma when another one hits me like a truck. And there I'd be left: tired, exhausted, robbed of any hope I might have had left in my soul.
The waves never seemed to subside.
But today, I had breakfast. I ate lunch, and even dinner. This may not seem like much, but it's a lot for me. I am often left with no energy for anything, even in the most trivial of tasks.
But today, I exercised. People like to think I'm purely lazy. Only I am aware of the number of days I've taken for myself this past year. I'd wake up and I wouldn't be able to move my body. I'd lay in my own despair. I wouldn't be able to bring myself to face the world. I'd walk up the mirror, neglecting to turn the lights on. The light from outside would creep into my room as much as the spaces allowed. But I was still able to see my reflection. As dim as it was, I stared into my glistening eyes as the tears begged to escape.
They gave everything away in their clear and unfortunate honesty.
But today, I looked in the mirror and didn't hate what I saw.
Today, I woke up on time. I did everything I needed to do. I budgeted my energy into progressive activities, people, and as hard as it is for me to do, even my thoughts. Another thing that I've wanted to get into the habit of, is embracing healthy alone time. It seems logical enough to only put energy into things that fulfill you. But in the fast course of life that we're all on, we often overlook the things that are draining us. There's not enough energy to go around, and if that's selfish, then so be it.
I am finished putting my time into things that won't be reciprocated. I deserve people who want to make time for me too. I've realized that it isn't enough anymore to be well-intentioned. If your intentions don't match your actions, then what good are they? I want to show the people that I love that I think of them and that I care for them. Whether it's through my words, gestures, a song, or something as simple as a hug or a pat on the back. I want to embrace my inner-empath and remain aware of the way that I'm affecting those around me. I want to show love and compassion to whoever may come my way because love—
Love is quite scarce in this terrible world.
I want to give others what I don't always get to have.
I often wonder if I overshare at times. Either I completely shut down, or I tell my story in its entirety. But why do I feel embarrassed? Ideally, there ought not to be any hesitation in telling your story, especially since it makes you who you are. It's yours. But I am embarrassed, of having to put myself back together, just to break not long after. I'm ashamed of the tears, the confusion, the anxiety, the heartache, written all over my face. I think raw emotion is so incredibly beautiful. So why am I so often ashamed of my own?
But today, I am telling my story.
And I don't want to speak too soon. But maybe speaking something into existence is better than not speaking at all.
Maybe tomorrow will prove to be different. Maybe tomorrow I will cry. And maybe— I can spend my entire life thinking of the if's, but's, and maybe's.
But today, in this moment, I am content.
