When the time comes, I know. I sometimes jump too soon, but I try to trust my instincts more, as I’m told I often have good ones. So I jump. I jump while knowing it will end with a crash, hoping that I will be caught. You might even say it’s jumping with one eye open.
Sometimes it’s a mistake, sometimes it is not. Most often, it requires me to adjust my expectation.
I adjust rather than what I could do. Which is be vulnerable. Say what I need from them. And hope they eventually understand and maybe meet my expectations. But I mostly just assume that they won’t see it [me] as necessary [worth it].
*sigh* How long am I going to be here? In this place that makes me feel this way?
There is such fragile in-authenticity in this. Somehow it feels best, even easier, for me. (Though the tangle of emotions hardly makes it easier.) But my relationship with them is “easier,” because nothing is expected, because I don’t communicate. Nothing is expected because ultimately I believe I am wrong. I am wrong, my feelings are wrong, my fear is wrong. My expectations are too high. They are too much.
[i am not enough]
These are the words I am whispering to myself, my mind, my heart.
The heartache of not being part of something you wish you so desperately to be is REAL. Present. Consuming. Something I struggle to lay down. I carry it like a burden that can never be sent down. Perhaps because I am so stubborn. Perhaps because I can’t. Perhaps because I won’t. Perhaps because–
Perhaps because I don’t have enough faith.
Not in God, but in people. I don’t have faith people see me as worth it, as enough.
So I unfairly transfer the feelings I have about myself to those I am hurt by. Even more unfair is I don’t give them the chance to see it from my perspective, to make it right.
More unfair that I don’t give them the chance to be better. To learn from me.
[o me of little faith]