Stuck…The Sequel

Did you do it? It’s okay, I’ve been there too. In fact, I live “it” on a daily basis. “It” lives outside me because “it’s” too large to fit within the confines of my skin. “It” is my vulnerability, and I wear it like a cloak, a shadow, a name. I understand if you blinked and allowed your vulnerability out to play. You are safe here, I won’t judge you. How can I when I am standing STUCK in the same place…

I think I’ve been trying to escape since the day I was born. Although it was only a few days before my due date, my birth was a surprise to my parents. After many miscarriages, and poor fertility prognosis, my parents gave up on having a second child yet, here I am. Many years later still trying to escape confining situations, only now, the world is supposed to be at my fingertips, but everything dissolves to dust when I touch it.

Or maybe, maybe it doesn’t. Maybe I only think I’m trying to solve my problems, but I’ve allowed years of noisy voices to creep into my head and cloud my thoughts. Maybe when I see success, and others see failure, I fold myself into their perceptions allowing the origami folds to crush my hopes and dreams. Maybe I’m so vulnerable that instead of mastering my own life, I’ve given the puppet strings to people with golden intentions, and zero accountability.

I’m sure I know what I need in life. I’m certain of how to achieve it. Glass ceilings don’t stand in my way, but brick walls do. They seem to spring up in front of me; step by step I’m met with roadblocks, speed bumps, road closures, and dead ends. Brick walls all put in place by the kind puppet masters that I trusted with my vulnerability. Oh, they mean well, so well, they keep me safe by boxing me in.

They tell me that I’m free. They argue that I am in control. They shout at me to CUT the strings that oppress me, yet each voice is controlled by vocal cords: puppet strings on my life. Each voice is powered by thoughts on what they’d do on my shoes, but no one sees through my eyes, or feels the ground beneath my feet.

When I do stand up and take control, when I scream from the bottom of my soul and power my decisions with passion, and need, the puppet strings tighten. “You know you are STUCK!” they shout. Tongues lashing at my open soul. “You know things won’t change!”

Yet each day I TRY. Each day I plan, I organize, I investigate. I am STUCK, but not because I’ve buried myself. I’m stuck because I’ve allowed myself to be buried.

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