The Indecision in all of Us
Are we less than something...only because we can't decide to be all of something?
…
It feels like a constant bloodletting…
As if there is no coagulation, no instinctive response to repair what’s been separated.
On one side, my obvious and sacred soul.
Its vividly white, floating above the plethora of chaos that is my self-made hell on Earth.
It promises to dissolve my pain, to cut off the anchors of diffidence and artificial personality. It calls out, “remove yourself, cut your own wings from the clay you tread on, and rise above all cynical examinations.”
On the other side, something else…
Something I can only relate to the darkest blacks in the depths of the sea. Its weight crushes me, keeps me infantile. Pressed into a claustrophobic fetal position, too compressed to breath. And it screams to me, “be small, lest the monsters of the deep will find you, consume you, remove your consciousness.”
…
I involuntarily struggle between the two.
Too afraid to stretch myself up into the shallows and into sky, in fear of being taken by the winds and where it takes me.
Yet, I fear that my time in the blackness will take from me more than just my body and rational mind.
My heart seems to reverberate a hopeful message tangled in spirit and harmony, coaxing me to stretch my limbs, pull upward, and face the hell that lies between this crushing despair and the soul above who calls to me.
…
I’ve spent my years ascending slowly, only to be towed back down again. Some sort of fear disguised as reason and supposed sanity.
Never have I been completely one or the other.
Never have I fully given myself to either the heaven or hell that I endure time in between. It’s some sort of ever-lasting purgatory or learning, only finalized by my commitment to fully sacrifice, either to the crushing depths below, or the surging, freeing shallows above.
But now I tire.
There’s not much left of me.
And time is never on my side, will never pity and stop for me. It is fiercely loyal to the romanticism of mortality, and defies my calls of mercy and timidity.
…
And maybe all that’s left is the choice.
The choice to rise. To face all the dangers before I break the barrier between sky and sea.
Because there’s no longer enough strength to hold the anchors of my diffidence and artificiality.
One must choose.
Despite the deep sea creatures or the sways and swells of what’s above. Despite the lack of knowing, the fear of sinking, and the tremors of the familiar monsters at my feet. Despite the intoxicating depressing call to remain common to humanity, and despite the opposite loneliness of choosing the uncommon.
One must—
Remove the gills.
Set sights to what’s above.
Endure the journey, fight the beasts.
Burst into the unknown.
And sow on the wings.
…
One must be decided in their path.
No longer torn between worlds.
No longer two made into one.
No longer the unmade, tortured Self.
And become all we’ve been afraid to be.
I told my best friend when I moved back home, “My next chapter is Execution. I need your help in making sure I don’t subconsciously let myself fall apart again.”
From her, she keeps me sane and keeps me bold with just the few words of encouragement…and also by calling me out on my insane self-reflective bullshit.
And what I’ve noticed I’ve been doing for so many regrettable years, is just not acting. But not just NOT acting…but refusing to burn off the character traits that make me comfortable; the me I know, not the me I’m meant to be.
And also letting things slide, only having conversations with myself instead of interesting people, putting everything off until tomorrow as if I have all the time in the world.
All of that has caused my suffering.
And I think we all constantly have this fight, like in the piece above.
We constantly keep ourselves “gracious and kind”, not realizing its all in an effort to keep away from those intensely uncomfortable moments where life demands us to be our higher selves, to be bold, be decisive, and trust our instinct and wisdom.
I’m getting too tired for that.
And I hope you are too.
Truth and Love, Reader.