Hope Comes with Belonging

It's that Simple.

I believe that when you are short on Hope, you are short on the Neuro-chemicals of what Belonging brings us.

I believe that when you are short on Hope, you are high-octane in a state of Alone dot Com. And the moment you find a creature who you can find belonging with, is when your brain can settle down: it is another set of eyes on the room. It is another creature to find something out with. I really do love people, and it also people who I have felt shatter me, and I have done so much shattering of myself. People are my Teachers, and I theirs. People are who make me laugh the very hardest. I need to always always remember that if I ever start to feel afraid.

Gad Damnit: no wonder Silvia Plath stuck her head in the fecken oven. People who can snap their fingers at that are my people. I'm not going to stick my head in the fecken oven. Not anymore.

People who understand and are not afraid of the Extremes of Life because they've been through it and have seen other people go through it: those are my people. People who have Compassion for the Extremes of Life: those are my people.

What writing does for me is that it helps me turn what Society thinks is SO SCARY and SO INTENSE and TOO MUCH and SHUN THAT into articulation; writing makes me feel powerful. Writing is the hand-holding I want to have, the soft smile I then make in public, the time I take throughout the day, the sharing of who I am with others.

I wish to shed the shattered pieces: scrape it off like wood chips but in what I've learned from Freedom Point Therapy and Internal Family Systems: we don't get to shed, we don't get to abandon pieces of ourselves on the sidewalk, in the ocean: we don't get to ritualize and leave our "broken" bits behind.

We do get to see the "broken" bits though. And say: "fuck" -- "you are looking gnarly, bruh." "ouch" "ew" "why you feeling so gotdamn busted up?"

And then if I'm brave enough: I answer.

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