I suppose when you get to a certain age, you start realizing you’ve been putting efforts into the wrong things.
For whatever reason, this week I read through all of my previous posts. The digital footprints I’ve littered across the internet. I’m too conscious to ever litter in the real world.
This kind of litter, I guess it’s not that bad compared to a plastic grocery bag a turtle might get caught up in. Or an old Dr. Pepper can of soda that becomes the eventual home to a school of fish larvae in the gulf.
Various moods, visuals, different pains resulted from different situations. Romantic partners and goals that have swallow me up and spit me back out. It’s like I’m constantly treading the harsh waves of the Atlantic ocean.
Hello, I am Camille and I feel sad. Happy. Ecstatic. Terrified. Angry. I’m feeling all kinds of ways.
I thought 2014 was as hard as things could get for me. I didn’t know the capacity for pain life carries with it back then.
Definitely didn’t expect to have to deal with drug addiction in my family again. Not with a sibling. I never anticipated a nephew that has to grow up in an environment even worse than was the situation was for me and my siblings.
Never imagined that kind of pain a little boy that survived despite the world working against him from birth would bring me. It drove me away from my home state of which I love.
It’s cold out here, but at least I don’t know anyone and the pain ain’t so close to my heart.
Unable to drive up the street and look at it. There is suddenly no need to see those tattoos, those track marks, those rotting teeth looking back at me. Asking to borrow money, for my forgiveness, saying cruel things.
That they could become such significant stressors to me was mind boggling. Even from 3,000 miles away, eating away at me until I can’t take it anymore and just cry.
Into my pillows, a strong shoulder, whatever is available. Grow up, be a woman, you’re almost 30 years old, I tell myself.
This all feels so unfair.
Unsure of who to talk to, who could I talk to? They just say “I’m sorry” and I am sorry too because it’s a problem that can’t be fixed. If ever I had an enemy, that entire situation would be it.
I want to shake the world and find peace in the hearts of the people I love but my hand keeps getting bitten.
My heart turns cold and it just hurts and hurts and hurts.
Trying to let go is hard.
All of the effort put into others was misdirected.
Yeah, I can proudly say I broke out of my “caste system” and made something of myself. but I still feel incomplete. Like I left my soul somewhere on the floor and left the room and left the house and left the state and now I don’t have one anymore.
My soul has become a puddle somewhere that gets stepped on and ignored and is more or less a mess that no one will ever clean up.
Perhaps it’s too late to get that soul back, but I found a way to build a new one.
Stop paying mind to everything that hurts and build a love inside myself.
Cells multiplying every day, cells made out of love and maybe some biological material and DNA too but mostly love.
Rebuilding my own soul is tiring work.
Sometimes I think it’s probably the worst feeling I’ve ever felt.
It’s rebuilding something I lost a long time ago, and so the exhaustion, it’s probably worth it to me. It will be my greatest work of art. The building of a brand new soul.