Actually, I can…

I’ve realised that a lot of my writing is based around the same sentiments. On occasion I call myself out, - you know gf you kinda already said that, just in another way -, I mention it to my reader, like an apology. But the thing is until we feel we have resolution on certain issues, we rarely let them go. We categorise them, dampen them down to the extent that they are not an all consuming grudge. We lead productive lives, but the unresolved issues are still at the core of who we are. And even if we do get some type of resolution, then that just becomes an expansion, an added post script to the amended situation. Which now plays a new role in how we approach life.

There are so many injustices that just continue on around us, that provoke feelings, often of helplessness, even anger that we just have to accept them, because some things are completely out of our control. The only thing we can control is the way we react to them.

If those feelings aren’t acknowledged, they influence other aspects of our lives. I know for me personally I often carry around a feeling of disbelief. Sort of like an internal shaking of my head, a scowling eye roll.  A silent affirmation that I am surrounded by an unacceptable mishmash of disarray, for which my thoughts are insignificant.

I feel like I’m always trying to justify why I’m talking about the same things, but why aren’t those same things ever resolved?

That’s why there are so many add-ons with my blogs, footnotes, because everything feels like an incomplete piece. Whether I add something tomorrow or in a year, it’s an ever evolving picture of my thoughts on uresolvedness (might have made that word up), a theraputic collage.

I don’t want to be neat and tidy when it comes to messiness. I want to write it as I feel it. And if that’s the way I have to deal with the world at large, I think that’s ok. Because besides internal chatter, there really is an overwhelming amount of external chatter.

Writing these words has me asking myself why I feel the need to justify not being able to make neat little parcels out of things that should be permanently unwrapped. I need to stop seeing my inner disharmony as repetitive.

This is the very last place I should be restricting myself. I mean if I wanted to come here every day and say the world fucking sucks then maybe I should, because it does. And maybe I want to feel differently about those things I have no control over. So I feel like writing about them is harping on about them , when in fact it’s my way of protesting about them, the only way that I can, with words.