Diary of A Black Man #6

Dear Diary,

Yesterday I had a hell of a conversation it included my deepest disappointments, my childhood trauma, frustration, and even the woes that readily rear their ugly head. Somehow my anger used to be fueled by a feeling of lack of importance, early obligation, and lack of creative outlet. My energy beyond the average, my focus less than most, my persistence beyond comprehension. My dedication undying yet can be very messy and misunderstood. I would constantly go to battle and return severed, cut, bleeding, and gashed. Is that heart of a lion or ignorance and insanity at its highest degree?

I would place bandaids on those wounds, expected to emotionally heal with no antiseptic or apology. It was a hole in my heart and it looked massive. Am I desensitized, no, am I scared of feeling deep down the joy of embrace?

I’ll answer that in my own due time.

Apparently I carry my pain in the form of self-doubt, self-destruction, and deprecated talk. Therapy!? I may be beyond the point of reconciliation or merely at the demolition site of what my surroundings created for me to build upon.

Picture me rolling, on rollerblades, Santa Monica sunset.

No, scratch that, Montevideo waterfalls and nature adorning my flesh. Cleansing my woes, washing away my hurt, easing my pain. No longer accepting it and only utilizing pain towards goals that are necessary and worthwhile. I’d put together soundtracks of relief and smoke blunts of enlightenment. That day, I will see the sunset as just another installation of myself and not the end. If it so happens to be the end, I’ll calmly accept that too.

Today felt like Change and new found direction!

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