When Truth Holds You Hostage

I’ve never been shy to say that I believe in some type of extra-sensory perception and metaphysics. I don’t believe in most of what is out there; at least, not the most froo-froo of it. But if one can appreciate them objectively as tools and lenses to see ourselves, others, and the world in a new way, there is no belief required in it. It’s like looking through a kaleidoscope—we know it’s just bits and things filtered through light at the end of a tube but if we turn it one way or another we can see so much beauty and color we wouldn’t have otherwise.

Recently, I was advised by someone to “clear my throat chakra.” I know a few things about the concept but not a lot. After some research, understood that it largely had to do with the one thing I have avoided for months: speaking my truth.

And perhaps that’s one of the things that have kept me in such a choke-hold. There are so many truths within me that I don’t know how to say them or where to start. And I’m focusing too much on those truths being palatable for others to hear.

I wish I could say I’ve got nothing to lose by saying the quiet parts out loud or the things that others don’t expect me to say. I definitely do. There is a lot to lose. But I’m at a point where I think, subjectively, I’ve already lost the worst parts I could. With a few exceptions.

Life has been relentless for me this year. I’m so frustrated with how I feel. The hopelessness, confusion, lack of direction. So many things hit me so fast—in addition to the public tragedies, traumas, and stripping of rights—that it’s no wonder I am still reeling. Especially when I cannot get a break or a breather before the next wave crashes. This has been one of the worst years of my life—the hollow numbness is how I know.

I was fortunate enough that in the past several years I was able to accomplish a lot of healing. A lot. That doesn’t diminish the pain and frustration of what I’m going through now. It does, however, give me something to ponder on the days I’m not being dragged under.

On the bad days, the wounded part of me wonders “Why doesn’t anyone want me? Why am I not worth choosing or fighting for?”

But on the other days, the ones I can push through, the healed (or healing) part of me asks “Why don’t others believe they deserve me? Why do they fear what they want?”

I know that the latter is the truth and the way out. This is something I’ve struggled to get others to understand—when I am in my deepest valleys, it is rare that I don’t feel worthy of what I deserve. The problem is that I continually find I never receive it. Others will seek it from me—personally, professionally, socially—then balk and run when they get what they asked for.

On the hard days it’s difficult not to notice the patterns. And that is hard to speak about because I notice everything. Even when I know full well that the way someone makes you feel through their actions is how they feel about themselves (and I have felt pretty damn miserable for awhile) it still tightens a fist around my throat. And for a writer, that’s painful. Sometimes physically.

When one has had a year like I have had, with constant losses, failures, and exponential consequences, it’s easy to see why I have been floating in a creative drought. Perhaps the person who advised me was right. Maybe they were just blowing smoke up my butt. Perhaps it’s something in between. But I can’t say they were wrong. I have to find a way to say express myself—the whole truth.