Suffering in silence when I wasn't screaming in outrage has been such an inherent part of my personality, I sometimes wonder, quite often to be honest just who am I without this enormous makeshift maybe even haphazard addition to my being?
Has it always been there?
I can recall at twelve listing to 'Hole in My Soul' on Aerosmith's Nine Lives album on the back of the school bus crying into my back back so no one could see my tears.
How and why I felt did understood lyrics such as those at such a young age it tells a story on its own.
Sounds a bit melodramatic, tragic even, but is it absolutely intrinsic to me?
Or was it a bud among many others of many varieties that had just been fed and watered while the others stayed alive but stayed withered and neglected?
Perhaps if I stop catering to the draining demands of my suffering and ceased to be around others who feed this gigantic weed with it's false pleas of need.
This weed that has been suffocating the beauty that is now beginning blossom.
Perhaps if I consistently feed the white roses of self love and forgiveness of self,
The marigolds of creativity and expression.
Perhaps if I fawned over and cradled those I had been neglecting and had left to rot in the dark crevices deep within my mind, never giving them the light and nourishment that they so desperately needed. Perhaps then the anguish the angst, the madness and insatiable needs that had taken over, perhaps then, and only then,
I will become more of the woman I always felt I was beneath the rubbish.
The woman I know that I truly am.
The woman I am on my way to becoming.
This becoming does not have an end.
I am becoming more and more,
kind yet opinionated.
Gentle yet firm.
Cordial yet assertive.
Fulfilled yet realistic.
Happy yet cynical.
Confidant yet humble.
Strong yet approachable.
Teaching yet learning.
Wise yet questioning.
Always reaching, and always climbing.
Upward and onward.
Over.
Out.
Mary Catherine, Cowardice Queen
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