Cocoon

emotional-baggageToday.

It feels like a spectacular floaty, peach cobbled dress, with oodles of shoulder draping; breezy wings to billow behind as I descend down a long staircase.
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It feels like I can do it all with a wink and a smile.

Like that sun is hung just for me to warm the top of my head and the roses of my cheeks.

I have never, ever felt as good about being me as I do right this moment, and to think it is only going to get better the more baggage I hurl out of the window, smashing it onto the tar – clothes flying out everywhere in a trail behind me as I go.

 

It has nothing to do with any tedious daily events, or who I am in the company of; what I am supposed to have reproduced by now or where I lay my head.

It has everything to do though with waking up from a long, long slumber. Opening my eyes and seeing how strong I am and how easy I can be where I need to be. Slipping my toes from the comforting hammock that held me and my worry, my sadness, my fears down onto the cold floor.
Cocooned for so long; wrapped up in a sea-weedy, salty ocean of blankets and comfort and warmth as I thrashed around kicking and fighting it all endlessly – before finding myself giving in.

Flopping as I floated and bobbed along on top of it all, lifelessly. Curling up at the end of a hard day of dealing with what I had become. Pathetically submissive; submersive. To be suffocated by all of it for so long, years and years in fact. So completely exhausting all of my bones and my aching tired muscles. Knowing that what I was immersed in, was an overwhelming and heavy feeling of being totally out of control and totally unable to dig myself out of the giant hole I had fallen down.
I have been so miserable – deeply miserable, for so long.
And I did not even know it.
I didn’t know you could still laugh, and buy raspberry tea and pick apples and wash your hair with pretty shampoo and be so completely miserable.
I didn’t know people saw me so much worse than I ever saw myself.

I didn’t know you could wear a fancy dress and dance under the lights and not realise you were still invisible.

I was only miserable within myself, about myself – everything external was just dandy, delightful, dreamy. Inside though it was concrete – heavy, sad concrete that weighed me down for a long time. I had put on the brave face, the lipstick, the clothes for so long I started to believe that I was just fine. Then I rubbed my lipstick off, smudgy and thick and I instead hid myself from everyone. I tricked myself. So much so, I didn’t even know I was playing hide and seek. Saying no to anything that involved people showing up as assessors, of the damage I had done to myself.

It hurt my shoulders the most; the weight of the failure; the weight of the complex intricate things that made me; and the weight of…the weight. It was all about the way I held my weight – tied it down under a microscope and focused on it forever and a day.

It all was about the way I held my failings –  forever and a day. Holding myself down against my will. Exhausting.

For the first time ever I have reached a point where I have fought myself and won; I have put myself first and it has worked. I have been able to see my way out of an impossible situation. I have found my old self again and at the same twirly, giddy moment I have found a new me I have not met before. Whenever I said ‘oh no I cannot face you with this face,’ I meant I could not face me.

I always thought I was an outsider – my whole life. Never fitting in, never truly belonging, always watching from the sidelines wanting desperately to be wanted, for someone to hoist me up on a pedestal even but for a moment.

I know now how brilliant and bright and god damn good I am.

I am not a stretch and pulled cartoon. I am a Matisse, a Klimt a sparkly Van Gogh!

I have peachy, billowy chiffon all around me. Life couldn’t be any better.

A B-52 Bomber, dumping the bags and crap and the weight as I fly.

I am the lightest I have ever been.

No need for a cocoon today.

Em xx

2 thoughts on “Cocoon

  1. I just finished reading this post and I just wanted to tell you that I love the way you write – the style is just beautiful and I really enjoyed reading about your free feeling transformation. Thank you!

    Like

    1. Amazing comment Madeline and I am only so sorry to be replying now all these months later. I did read your comment at the time and was very touched.
      It is that kind of support for my writing that keeps me going, so thank you!
      Emma xoxo

      Liked by 1 person

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