I enjoy writing my blog. It gives me hope, and I feel like I can do anything when I express myself through writing. I have been living a lie for a long time. I am not who I am. I am not me. I am someone else--someone who is not me. I am not myself. I lost myself a long time ago, and I miss me. I miss the me that I am. I miss who I am. I miss being myself and loving myself. I miss being true to myself and buying things that represent who I am. I miss working and creating a life for myself. I miss being me and creating a life that starts at day 1 to create the life I couldn't have dreamed of living.
I am there, right now, at the beginning, again. It was hard to start, at first, but I believe God gave me enough distractions to do it without really noticing--a wife, a daughter, family troubles. I'm thankful for that because, otherwise, I may have never done it. I may have never allowed myself to start again, and here I am moving forward and starting again--feeling like life is owed to me because I am alive. It is what life is about. Just being alive gives you the right to life. Yet, being alive and having life are two different things. Being alive and feeling alive are two different things. You are alive when you are not dead. You have life when your energy connected to something bigger than yourself--a purpose. You feel alive when you're glad you woke up this morning. You feel life. I learned that there are various forms of death, even in life. I don't know them all, but I know of one, in particular. One form is in the form of numbness. You feel nothing on the inside. You're numb to emotion, and your head is full of fog, which is so amazing because, literally, as I'm writing this I see fog forming across the grass on the hill behind our house. Ooh, and it's cloudy and you can't see much beyond it. It's clouding my vision of the grass and the bushes. It feels just like it does in my head. It's getting even more foggy as I write this, and it's quite daunting to see how the fog is taking over the scene. Although I want to love the awesome of it, it is a quick reminder of how glaring the fog is in my head--no clarity.
I wish I could have seen the fog rolling into my head, but I guess I'm glad I didn't. I may not have been able to handle it because, in nature, at least, you can't control fog. It's possibly the same thing for us, mentally. I may have gone crazy had I known it was rolling in. Thus, we may not have much control over the fog in our heads. Is it as natural as the fog on the earth? We are connected to the earth, one with the earth, so it's possible.
Does that mean that fog will settle into our minds and leave when the sun starts to shine and burn it off? Does that mean that the sun is coming out soon, for me? Does that mean that I'll be able to see the sun again soon? I believe so, and I'm awe-inspired by it.
Outside, it's getting foggier, and yet, it doesn't feel as overwhelming as when it first rolled in. Maybe because it's meeting the level of fog in my head. I feel, sort of, comforted by it knowing that the sun, which is already out--outside--will burn it off, in time. The fog isn't so daunting, anymore. In fact, it's doing what it does--whatever fog does. I don't understand the purpose of fog, but my 4th, 5th and 6th grade teacher, Mrs. Smith, taught us that fog is a cloud that settles onto the ground. I wasn't so sure about that, but I always remembered it. Yup, Wikipedia just confirmed that it is indeed as Mrs. Smith said. In fact, the fog, when it hits the ground, is only considered fog because it hit the ground. Otherwise, it would still be considered a cloud, if still in the air.
The fog is becoming less dense and then more again. For now, I can see more of the ground and the bushes beyond. Seeing this gives me a real analogy and a new way of viewing things.
The sun has come out, outside, and the fog has disappeared. What a metaphor, what a gift I have been given. I feel almost undeserving, but, instead, I am so grateful.
I love you!
Yvette
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