So many changes coming at me so fast I barely have a second to process it all. I think it’s starting to hurt less every time I take a hit, but no guarantees. Sometimes the changes are a bit like gulping storm’s brew – a nasty concoction that makes your face screw up and you can only just manage to force down. Often it threatens to come back up. It’d be so much worse if it came back up so I make damn sure it all stays down where I can digest it, however debilitating the feel of it in my stomach. It’s times like these I wish I didn’t feel everything so damn intently. It would be lovely to be emotionally illiterate, numb, stupid. My impulse is to run, knowing damn well hiding in plain sight isn’t an option I can make too much use of, though I think I’m currently doing a damn good job of it. So thankful people are blissfully ignorant of the right questions to ask me. That way I don’t have to answer – honestly or otherwise. But we’ve already covered what a sh*tty liar I am so it’d have to be honestly.
But back to running. It’s something I’m REALLY good at. It’s served me well in the past. Misdirect, hide in plain sight and when all else fails, run like hell is on my heels. I’d love to take that run option, but right now my legs refuse to move. So I sparkle instead. Can’t hand the world ammo with my name on it. Preserve and persevere at all costs, yeah? Yeah. So f*ck yes I’ll smile and sparkle even when the sparkle is caused by a billion shards of glass and they’re all cutting into me. Suck my blood inwards where it can’t be seen or touched. No blood, no evidence, it didn’t happen. Besides, I know how to sparkle so bright the sun and stars get jealous and lust after my shiny secret. Even if a droplet or ten escapes, you can’t see it; it didn’t happen.
This has been building for months, lest you come to the conclusion it’s a sudden thing. No.
I’d even venture to say it’s been building for years, each year finding me more sensitive and open than the last. Just bear in mind when you tell the Lady you are Her vessel, Hers to do with as She wills, She will sure as f*ck reshape you and it won’t always be a pleasant thing – mostly because we cling so tightly to the ideas we have about who and what we are. I now find myself living in a highly sensitive body: sights, sounds and scents affect me keenly. These past months have found me unable to tolerate certain types of sound and very aware of differing scents in my environment. There are some really beautiful benefits to all this sensitivity, but not all is butterflies and roses. Death has a very particular smell. I live in a household where people eat meat. It’s a challenge to handle the smell, but I do it anyway because I adore my son regardless of his food choices. And it’s not just physical sensitivities.
Emotionally, I am heaps more sensitive. I can end up feeling overwhelmed so quickly it can be difficult to function in normal society. Yesterday I broke down in tears in the grocery store in the middle of the meat and dairy sections. All that suffering and death in pretty packaging. I spent the rest of my grocery trip muttering “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” to the animals whose lives are stolen for our pleasure. Yay social functionality!
I’ve been empathic my entire life. For awhile I was able to shield myself from the swarm of emotional information coming at me constantly; I didn’t even need to leave my house to encounter potential emotional overload. I got really good at avoiding crowds. WAY too stimulating. As I type this, I feel as though “I” am floating for lack of a better way of putting it. Not that I’m leaving my body, but rather that “I” am extending out far beyond the boundaries of my physical form even as my skin has become hypersensitive. I feel myself and the world around me buzzing and crackling across my skin. Trust me when I say this takes vulnerability to a whole new level! Remember what I said about death? Well, it also has a distinctive feel that lingers ’round the body (or pieces thereof) no matter how long deceased. I even find myself avoiding inhaling near people when I’m out walking. Not because of their scents but because one breath has me energetically tasting them and a taste of someone is an altogether intimate thing. A lot of information is held in that taste. I used to have to actively decide to do taste someone’s energy. Not anymore. Yes, I’m all up in the woo.
Oddly, through all this I have the distinct feeling I am held securely, even in the moments when I most want to run or hide. Or when I feel the most afraid the world will look at me and shout “FREAK!” while gloating and pointing. I know I will not fall or fail no matter what else is going on around me. No matter how much storm’s brew I suck down. I don’t have a clue where this is all going or what waits at the end of this particular stretch of path I’m on but that doesn’t seem important. Bumpy stretches of road have a way of leveling out again or I adapt and the bumps are no longer noticed. And as for the flavor of storm’s brew, it needn’t be foul tasting. It can be sweet, fruity, spicy, exciting. It all depends on how I feel about it. It’s a tonic meant to strengthen me. Now to figure out how to access those other flavors, maybe even get drunk off the brew. It probably has something to do with surrender, dammit.