I can’t remember when I wrote just those three words, but the feeling is still lingering; subtly, but still there. 

Still.

Can’t.

Write.

It looks like …. still can’t write.

That isn’t what I meant.

I feel as though my memory kind of fades in and out. It’s amazing what I can remember, and it’s astounding when it comes to what I forget. It’s has most definitely been a means 0f survivial and once feeling like a curse, it is now the biggest blessing …. being able to forget. Not forget my niece, but forget the time we are without her and waiting. Forget the memories we have missed making, forget how I cried so much that I had to stop because my eyes hurt so bad I didn’t want to even open them.

Something magnificent has happened to me, and although I can’t explain it, I feel better than I have ever in my entire life. Puzzle pieces are coming together and staying on lock and the very thought of that is simply delicious.

All that being said, three small words, that actually spoke volumes, are better to be revisited and clarified as to prevent confusion between a statement of despair, and a statement of reclamation of self.

When your heart is aching, it is necessary to readjust, reevaluate, and you’re in constant reconnaissance mode.

You never clock out, and you never tap out. 

Because of all that, sometimes, you need to be still. And because of this agony, I have had to learn to be still, and force myself through sitting still and just ‘being’.

So, just because I’d like to be understood, here’s the breakdown ….

> Still.      As in stillness, ‘ being ‘ still. Deep silence or calm, not moving or making a sound.

> Can’t.      As in being pulled in a million directions, by a million people wanting a million different things. So many things to do, and although I do them, I feel as though I ‘ just can’t’. Or at the very least, have to talk myself through and pray myself through.

> Write.      As in I’ve been manically writing. Just not writing about this. I’ve been pouring dreams, explanations, and information into journals , in a random sort of order. My most beautiful of memories are suddenly coming to me in my dreams once again, and it has been like getting to experience those perfect moments all over again. Not surprisingly, the more I write to get it all out, the lighter I feel, and the better I’m sleeping.

I’m learning to be still. I’m learning to push though the ‘ cant’s ‘ and feelings of ‘ I don’t want to. ‘ I find myself smiling and laughing and playing. I get midnight milkshakes. I look for rainbows and rays of light through dark clouds. I’ve been writing about the best and most amazing things I’ve experienced, and who I experienced them with. Too many good times to count and my dreams are now something I look forward to, no longer afraid to fall asleep, nightmares no longer haunting me.

I’m putting pen to paper, not fingers to keys, and it’s a totally different sense of ownership of my own feelings. I’m learning that it’s okay for me to have some. Both good and  bad. I understand and reluctantly accept that light can’t exist without darkness; and that darkness can’t exist without light. I’m finding the beautiful, I’m finding the blessings ….