Of Tigers and Feathers – Day 55

I quoted something to Jack once, almost three years ago, “Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let the pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness.”
It’s a balm that I agree with past-me, that this is important.
But then, as I said, I see being soft as being like water. Fluid, relentless, capable of both molding to fit its circumstances and wearing down the hardest stone.
Although, one wonders how long it would take for water to wear down diamond?

I wonder what the tightness in my chest is telling me. What’s the warning of the nausea that makes it almost impossible to eat? The spinning of my head, the fuzziness, the inability to focus – does it mean something beyond simple fatigue and illness?

Things I am trying to believe in:
It is all right if I fail. I am no more or less worthy if I don’t manage to succeed at what I set out to do.
Even if everyone in the world considers me disposable or replaceable doesn’t make it true.
The past doesn’t predict the future.

I wrote once about life being a river, and we all duckweed floating along on the surface. Sometimes congregating, sometimes separating, but always moving, ever shifting, never able to go back to where we once were.

That was the first time I was called up on the carpet for plagiarism.

Which, I wonder, if I’m digging around old pains and half-remembered thorns, how much I’ve internalized that. All these people in authority questioning if my work was actually mine, telling me in essence that I couldn’t have been capable of producing such writing. And wondering how this internalization has shifted to this wariness in showing others my work, in lack of confidence rather than arrogance.

I told Thene today that to a certain extent I feel like I’ve failed at everything I’ve set my hand to and it’s so very hard not to let that color everything.

I held dandelion fluff in my hands. The wind rose around me and I unfurled my fingers and let them go. Seeds of possibility or the start of a war, I know not. Shall we feast upon the greens come the summertime and twirl tipsily upon dandelion wine, or will the sproutlings be met with poison and sharp implements? Where will I be when the spring wind comes again? Where will you be?

I feel like 2016 is teaching me to let go, but I don’t know how to let go without wanting to release everything.

I am obsidian. Sharp when broken open, reflective, and brittle. Don’t drop me.
Sometimes I close my eyes, and all I see are jagged edges, brilliant and merciless. Every night, I fall, and every morning I wake up bloody. But triumphant, they ask. Perhaps.
All I know is that every time I’m dropped, the more I shatter, and the more likely I am to bloody myself on the next person who holds me because those sharp facets face mostly inward. Mostly, but if you grasp hard enough, I will cut you open as well. Take heed, I want to whisper, and don’t pick me up unless you have the care to.

I was talking with Thene about vulnerabilities and boundaries. The thing is, in this one area, I’ve decided to give up the notion of faking it until I make it. It is, after all, why I changed my name.
In order to be a 君,one has to fight endlessly, to never show vulnerability, and to conquer with extreme prejudice. I don’t want any part of that anymore. Someone else can build the empire and tame the barbarian hordes. Someone who actually enjoys it.
Pretending to be strong has brought me nothing but grief. Mostly because pretending to be strong involved carefully hiding the flinches when someone stomped on my tender places. There was a lot of sucking it up and breathing through the pain of supposedly well-meant advice. There was the exercise in futility of yanking on bootstraps when barefoot.

I said before that we are all duckweed upon the river, but, I live in hope that I will find a pond and be able to become a water lily instead. And the water hyacinth may be beautiful, but it is known to choke the life out of entire ecosystems if one is not careful. Perhaps the key to happiness is becoming a better horticulturist.

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