Broken Birds

Things feel strange right now. Like looking around at the edge of a cliff I've just slid partway down. Unsure if I should try to climb the precarious path back up, or leap into new heights, trusting invisible wings to carry me.

I'm hoping this breakdown will turn into a breakthrough. I have a sense that it might. That maybe I needed this violent storm to release something in me. To shake me awake like an earthquake. To uncage some of the broken birds inside of my chest.

My worst panic attacks feel like dying. Like pure torture. Like losing all control of yourself. I wouldn't wish one on anyone. Each new crash feels like every crash before echoing inside my body at the same time. And I think... I can't take it anymore. This one will definitely kill me.

Even when I'm somewhat stable, I still worry that will be my ultimate end. I think I always sensed a black hole on the path in front of me. Waiting, restless, to suck me in one day in the future. But sometimes, sometimes the destruction is actually part of that rebirth I was talking about.

Releasing my second book with huge fears of how it would be received, letting go of the end of Magic Inc.'s first arc, the sixteenth anniversary marking half my life since dropping out of school, and the tenth anniversary of my Grandmother's death. These were all this year. Each one, in itself, a possible trigger for one of my emotional crashes. I tried to stuff the pain of them down. Tried to be "professional". Tried to keep it together. But when we don't allow ourselves to mourn the losses and changes in our lives, the pain will eventually catch up to us. Our bodies and minds will scream at us if we don't listen the first thousand times.

Right now, I'm trying, trying to be gentle with myself and my feelings. Maybe this broken bird will fly again soon. But I'm not going to rush her.