Words that never come

It's my third month in Bristol and I've been struggling a little bit.
Some things have been coming up in me again. Some difficult things, that I have felt before. And it's felt scary to feel them again.
Last month, I felt good. I felt strong. I felt ready to explore a new city, to move on. But it seems that some parts of me still aren’t.
It's easy to run away from your problems in a new place. To move to a city where no one knows you. Where you can be anyone or anything. But it’s only a matter of time before old wounds start to creep up again.
I’m learning that our pain has a way of following us, wherever we go. It has a way of coming up when we least expect it. When we least want it. Urging us to look at it, to see it, to feel it, in all of its heaviness. So that we can process it and move on.
But sometimes this is difficult. Sometimes we’re not ready. Sometimes when you’ve experienced so much, the weight of it all can feel too heavy to hold. So instead, you shut down. You don’t feel anything at all.
I’ve felt a creeping emptiness, on and off, for much of my life. Of all the emotions, I find it the most difficult to hold.
Some days, when I’m feeling numb. I can be around people, and convince myself and them that I’m doing okay. I can put on a brave face, laugh and joke. But when I’m home, by myself, I sit. I stare at a blank sheet of my journal, and wait for words that never come. I feel nothing. Empty. Part of space. Hollow. Numb.
Sometimes when I don’t feel an awful lot. When the world feels too heavy for me to hold. When words seem to escape me, when I have nothing to say. I sit on the floor of my bedroom. I close my eyes. Grab my guitar. Take a few deep breaths, and play the same two chords over and over again, until I start feeling a little more okay.

[@Kai-ts1cn]

I miss you Meg!