Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind.

“Pooh!” he whispered. “Yes, Piglet?”

“Nothing,” said Piglet, taking Pooh’s paw.

“I just wanted to be sure of you.”

Winnie-The-Pooh

I am not an emotional junkie.

I am just a human being who has been hurt and has hurt others in return.

I would really like to accept myself as I was, as I am, to allow myself feel, to allow myself heal, to get out of this vicious cycle of fear built on fear, and aggression, and anger.

I have a strong urge to confess, but I have no God to confess to, so I am confessing to myself hoping I will become God himself one day.

I have turned to astrology, yoga, psychology, philosophy, religion, arts and other forms of expression to try and get this pain out. To expose my wounds. To start healing. What I haven’t done is to turn to another human being and admit “I’ve been hurt. I am suffering, but I am not a bad person. I’m not wicked at heart. My heart isn’t rotten.”

Are you really with me?

I keep asking you, though I’m probably asking myself. I have lost contact with myself and often ended up running around trying to find the right person, philosophy or ideology that could fix me. But the flaws are in me. Pain is in me. Answers are in me.

I don’t need anyone to tell me what to think or feel and I only get repulsed when somebody commands me to be well. All I need is for someone to be there. Simply just be there.

Many stories, many metaphors, speak of unclenching your fist. That’s what it takes to love, they say, it only takes this much. But it’s easier said than done, cuz’ probably, probably, unclenching that fist, letting go of that fear, is the hardest thing you will ever have to do in your life.

I feel dirty, I feel incredibly unclean as if I’ve only just come back from a war-zone. Scars, wounds and stains all over me  – will I ever get over them?

Sometimes it gets so dark that it’s hard to see light, and I know it takes time, it takes time and it takes so much patience, but sometimes it just seems there will never be light. It feels that i might be incurably sick.

Wounds don’t go nowhere, they don’t just disappear, and they ache so badly that it makes you wanna scream. What’s the worst thing, the worst thing is not that you’re not allowed to scream, but you cannot even stay expressionless. You are asked to put a smile on your face – which makes it all the more painful.

Please, I ask myself, please don’t give in to the temptation of a quick relief. But I do it over and over again whenever the smallest ray of light dispels darkness. There is no such thing as quick relief that would not have graver consequences in the long run. That would not cause more pain. There are no pills, there are no safety pillows. You just have to go through with it.

Please, don’t try to fix me. If you are reading this thinking you could fix me, you can leave. If you are here to be, then simply just be with me.