Control and Focus

Over the past nine days I've been wondering whether or not I was worth his time.  Self worth, that is the question after all, isn't it?

"Bitch it's called SELF. ESTEEM."

Last night I was thinking about how I needed the question marks to end.  I crave stability like I crave oxygen.  Information is a drug. flipping the switch on neurotransmitters, sending a rush of calm and peace.

So instead of waiting until two weeks went by, my arbitrary allotted amount of acceptable angst, I sent a text:

Hey you. I know you are probably still dealing

with stuff, or at least I'm guessing you are. If

there's any way you could shoot me a text and let

me know if you are still interested (or even like, if

you're doing ok), it'd put my mind at ease a bit.

You've been so quiet, I'm not really sure what's up.

And with that, I communicated my feelings without behaving needy or accusatory.  With that I gave up the reigns on my own terms, leaving the door open, but as a participant instead of a helpless witness.

My mind is open this morning.  There was no text on my phone when I woke up.  That's fine.

Because this gives me the space to focus on myself.  Space that I needed in my brain, which is still outgrowing its little pot, spreading outward, reaching into parts of me I missed and needed, parts that stuck just out of reach, starved of nutrition and development.

Space to look at my day as a slew of positive or simply present opportunities instead of a vehicle that drags me running behind it.  Space to interact.  To recognize my needs and limits.

Space to not only be comfortable, but to allow myself to be uncomfortable.

I want control and autonomy back, and I can when I want to now.

Not because of a text, but because of the choice to text.


I don't know which pill that is.  But my eyes are open, at least for today, and I am going to keep looking until I understand.