Every once in a while, I catch a glimpse of how my life appears as a whole.
Like I am looking at Earth from the atmosphere.
The stunning beauty from a distance.
I feel at peace inside when I view my story from up here.
It’s a beautiful tragedy, this life of which I write.
Each chapter holding its own pain as the tale unfolds.
The curves, twists, and cliffs appear like a highway.
After screaming as I fall from the cliff,
I catch my breath as I read a chapter of redemption.
Open wounds remain.
Battle scars are permanent.
But I have survived a lifetime of injury.
I hold a delicate and magnificent story.
I am proud of my journey.
When I come down from that place in the atmosphere,
Where my life looks so beautiful.
The closer I get to myself,
The more I can feel my own body,
The uglier the world becomes.
I no longer see the big picture,
The memoir of my journey.
The reality is that I am trapped inside of my own head.
Every moment hurts.
Every day is like climbing the steepest hill.
Each task comes with the most treacherous soil.
I have no choice but to wade through the mud.
Breathless, I make it home just in time to wake up and start all over again.
Time goes by so slowly.
The small stuff.
They say don’t sweat it.
But it’s a downward spiral.
I just want to get to the end of the story.
I can’t wait to take my last breath.
So I can finally exhale as I read my life.