It’s a journey back to myself and all I know now is that it has been everything but graceful. Not a pretty picture of pieces crumbled into a mess that no one else can clean up but me. After sweeping the chaos under the rug for so long, pretending it didn’t exist, looking away became easy. Out of sight, out of mind. Until the day my mind said no and took me the long way around. The look me in the eyes and face the demons way around. The clean your fucking mess up way around. I couldn’t look away anymore and I guess the hardest part of a battle is when you are your own opponent. Sometimes I can’t remember if I’m betting for myself or against myself, but I know the end goal is to kick my own ass hard enough to know I’m on my own side. It’s easier said than done. But I stepped up to the plate of myself, which is a good start. I’ve uncovered the mirrors, picked up the rugs, cleaned the closets, taken out the bones from those skeletons. Most of them anyway. But that’s only the beginning and the weeks feel like years by now. Just because I uncovered the mirrors doesn’t mean I have taken the next step of looking in and maybe those rugs are up, but I still see the shadows from what was there for so long. Every day is a new day, offering a new chance and maybe I’ll be stronger, but sometimes I feel weak. Every day is weigh in day to see if I measure up enough in my own eyes- but also to a world that taught me I never tipped the scales into anything other than mediocre. I forget who I’m proving myself to, but last time I checked, the world didn’t give a shit about tipping the scales to push the standard ratio in my favor, so… looks like the color of my own eyes will be the only judge for how heavy it feels to be light and why the dark covers me empty but warm all at once.