I’ve been dragging these lead balloons around for a while. They’re with me, I don’t want them, but they’re with me. I hide them when I can or when I think I have to, but they’re still with me, and I’m tired. I hate this. This isn’t me.
This is the rabbit hole. Some days I think I’m the only one in here and other days I think everyone is in here, but only a few of us know it. There is pain down here– violence and injustice, exploitation and lies, ignorance and loneliness. The sunlight is out of reach and mostly feels like false hope. This isn’t me.
So I sit and I wait. I wait for branches to grow so I can climb out, or a hand to pull me up, or maybe I wait to get used to the hole– if there’s no way out. This isn’t me. I want to be me.
My boys come home tomorrow and I want to be me for them. I want to smile and feel light enough to breathe my love in and out. I want them to sit in the sunshine, not down here. I want to be me.
Summertime in Oregon is my favorite and I want to be outside in the woods, or a lake, or my own backyard. I want to breathe in fresh air and feel connected to something and someone. I want to be me.