You should find your new favorite corner. Stare at it for a few minutes. Contemplate if you even want to go sit in that corner because you know that once you slide to the floor, a pent up brigade of tears will march.
You should go sit in that corner. Legs curled up to your chest. Face in your knees.
You should cry your ugly cry. Eyeliner smudged. Cheeks puffy. Eyes red. Mascara demolished.
You deserve to cry that cry.
See, no one ever told you about this part. No one ever told you about a Thursday night, drinking wine on an empty stomach, wondering once more if this success is even worth it. No one ever told you that serving as a light to many would require your own pitch black moments. No one ever told you that success does not, and never will, equal happiness. No one ever told you that you would attain the very things you once hoped for, and you would still be left with cracks and craters in your spirit.
No one ever told you that you can’t keep snorting lines of success without eventually overdosing. You can’t keep conjuring up ideas hoping to drown out the demons in your own head. You can’t keep going on like this.
No one told you that you shouldn’t have quit therapy; you shouldn’t have so quickly assumed that you were whole. What someone should have told you is that when you experience a seismic shift in this life, you never go back to the old life. You can’t pray yourself back to the old life. You can’t work your way back to the old life. You can’t reminisce back to the old life. This is the new life with all of its blinding bullshit, bedlam and blessings.
So, you’re going to have to deal with you and all of your mess. And you’re not going to be able to hide behind your writing or your brand-building or your pretty poems and paragraphs. Everyone else does that shit; you do not have the luxury of doing that shit. Have you not seen how many times and in how many directions this life will whip you? You do not have the luxury of only scratching the surface. So you can’t just sit on Dr. Jones’ couch a few times and assume you’re good. And you can’t just meditate a few times and believe you’re whole. And you can’t just drop down at an altar once or twice and tell yourself everything is fine. Oh, no. This is slug-your-feet-through-the-mud kind of healing. This is every-day-all-the-time kind of revival. This is bid-the-old-life-farewell-once-and-for-all kind of living. If you want to crawl out of the abyss, you’ve got to let your fingers bleed.
But, see, when your fingers bleed, they tell stories. Someone else needs those stories. When you want to give up, as you so often do, that is your savior: someone else needs your stories. If you do not tell those stories, they will die at your beautifully bloody fingertips.
But, for now, cry your ugly cry. Cry for everything you still crave and every crater in your spirit you still have yet to fill. Cry for all of the blessings and all of the bullshit. Cry because wine stopped working and good sex stopped doing the trick. Cry because it’s never, ever going to be the same. Cry because you know the road ahead is long, and it is just as beautiful as it is calamitous. Cry because you always prayed for the light, but never realized there would still be downpours of darkness. Cry because you are fortunate beyond what you deserve. Cry because you survived. Cry because you are here. Cry because “here” is still 1,000 precious miles from where you ever believed you should be. Cry because of forgiveness and amazing grace. Cry because there is a tribe that has stuck by you even when you were an outright jackass. Cry because you want more out of this life than accolades and retweets. Cry because some days you don’t quite believe you’re worth more than accolades and retweets. Cry because every now and again, your soul and spirit just need to cry their ugliest cries.