some days, i feel so wounded

I want to know that I can make a living as an emotional person. 
And I do not mean, crazy. 
I mean, emotional. Someone who feels emotions and is attracted to emotions. 
Deep conversation. 

Some days, I feel so wounded
Too wounded to lead. 
Too wounded to adhere to discipline. 
Some days, I don't want to hold it together, because I feel that I can't. 

When I look back at all the places I lived in, I remember so presently, living in the office. The office above the Infiniti Car Dealership. I look back at that time of my life because I wish I had protection then. I feel like I wasn't raised with enough affection, and that's why I'm so needy for affection now -- but only affection from those I trust. 

I am trying to not feel so wounded. 

Or rather, the woundedness has its hold on me - its grip on me. Its weight on me. And while everyone sits with their pain, I feel that I've hidden my body inside of my wounds. I feel ugly. I feel cheap. I feel like I lack the fullness of a healed leader. 

And I think I get so frustrated with this limping self-image because I feel that the generativeness of my creativity knows I can do more. And knows I can recreate and invent new realities and safe spaces for curious appetites and emotional loss. 

I think I get frustrated that I don't have all the answers, and that I still limp around with these wounds. I keep waiting for the scabs to flake off -- but instead these wounds: they thicken up and become fatter. And it becomes difficult to imagine the skeleton of my body moving without the added weight of destruction and torment on me. 

I seek affirmation, I seek validation, I seek protection, I seek stable meals, I seek vegetables and salad, I blame my parents, I feel guilt for blaming them, I feel angry, I feel wronged, I don't want to feel like I will be held back for the rest of my life because I did not have stability. 

I almost wish the abuse I had gone through as a child was worse so that I could truly vilify it and let it become something I could terrorize and destroy rather than figure out a way to hold its wholeness and it's gray parts. I am exhausted from the dexterity of my softness and my empathy. I want my life back. I want to press on. I want to feel lighter and go for a run. 

I want to throw things into the trash. 
I want to love what I am now. 
And instead, I feel angry. 
And it is this loneliness that leads to my grief in solitude. 
It is this loneliness that becomes so unbearable as I am faced with the choice of whether to choose life or death. 
And I think I've felt so stagnant lately because I feel that I've chosen neither.
Please tell me I will be okay. 
Because I know you will be okay. 
But I don't know if I will be okay. 
And this is what loneliness is. 
And this is how the days pass.
And none one would ever know. 
If I didn't say it here. 

- 
Diana 

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