Cathartic

There is something cathartic about being able to express authentic emotions. I must confess my mind isn’t necessarily in the place that it should be right now.

Through my young adult life, I would have self-identified as an existentialist. I didn’t really buy into all the religious banter that was around. Who was I to be able to identify a supreme being?

That all changed when I was pregnant with my daughter. I will save that for another entry. Long story short – I am a Christian, and I am forever grateful for my king laying his life down for me. I am a renewed being. I am his child. He is my everlasting Father. There are no words to describe my gratitude for that. I am redeemed. I am not who I was.

These past two weeks, however, there is an evil root that has sprouted within me. It started with my outburst on my mother and has festered ever since. I am still a very grateful creation of my heavenly father, but I would be lying if I didn’t say that there was something looming. There was something inside of me that wanted out.

I cut my bangs. I haven’t had true bangs since I was in high school. I needed something to change. I went into the bathroom and came out with bangs. BANGS. Bang, bang. My hair is long, like almost to my butt long. But now, in stark contrast to the length, these bangs sit on my head.

And I now have the nearly irresistible urge to pierce my nose again. I had one once when I was a young adult. I let it go when I was in nursing school. And tattoos, I want another tattoo. I have one, cherries on my hip, no less, from freshman year. I cherish that memory, it bonded me to my best friend. I consider her a best friend because she is always there, always supportive, even though the miles that separate us are expansive and the time that lingers between our conversations is too great.

These may seem like simple things, but they are screaming out from my soul. I want to scream. I want to cry. I have been far too good for far too long at shoving my feelings down deep and carrying on. These past few weeks have been different though. Instead of carrying on blissfully I am actively carrying on, noticing the emotions that I have to put on hold as I continue through the days.

I honestly don’t know what I would do if it weren’t for my sweet princess and teddy bear. My two-year-old son and four-year-old daughter. They are EVERYTHING to me. I would do anything for them, thus I continue to carry on. Not because it is easy and not because I should, but because I must.

Cheers to the second entry. The pressure is releasing. How cathartic.