Confession

I sit here on a rainy day, listening to the water pellets hit my window, and I pose a question to myself that is no stranger as it has come to my mind before. The question, "How did I get here?"

Yes, technically I arrived through birth that my mother gave to me born out of a love shared between her and my dad. But mine is more of the philosophical question that probably a few of us have encountered.

I feel a bit bottled up in an over-sized home that I try desperately to care for because I know there is no place else I'd rather be. I battle through life with support that I do not always take advantage of because while I'm not too proud to ask for help, I'm afraid of failing.
I have come to realize that even though I have suffered tragedy and deal with challenges and barriers that my life presents, I have stared it down and battled back and I am quite capable of many things. But I am still afraid, afraid to fail and let others down. I need to fix whatever is wrong with my life but I do not know how to do it because for some reason my own needs are overshadowed by my own desire to make others happy and to help out wherever I can.

I often don't know how to say what I'm thinking and I defer to thinking and saying something different or nothing at all. Make sense? It doesn't always make sense to me......... and so I write. I write my stories and I write my blog and the words that come from somewhere inside of my head move down to the tips of my fingers and helps me understand the things I feel, or what I want, or what I am capable of.

While a small part of me secretly hopes people enjoy my shared dialogues through these blog posts and that someone, somewhere will make a discovery of how talented I am and offer me a career to keep doing what I'm doing, the bigger part of me, the rational yet sometimes confused side, writes to inspire myself. When I write about love and hope and all of that other great stuff in life it is to help my own soul not only see it but believe it.

There are many things I have seen or listened to that have shown me the beauty in life and then I use my own words to help me understand them. I need to understand continually because I still try to grapple my way through challenges and barriers I selfishly don't know if anyone else understands. I need to understand because I am still afraid and I still ask the question about how I got here. And so I write...... anything and everything.

Good or bad, I got here of my own doing, step after unsteady step after cautious step. No excuses, no pity.
I know that my life is great and I should want no more, but I do and don't at the same time and I feel like my great life is inches from me actually being able to hold on to it.

The only thing I know for certain is that my questions and my reaching will not end because my love for it all will never fade away and because of my fear of failing in this beautiful life. I use my writing to keep the hold; and I hold on as tight as I can.