In Which I Walk Through Pain

I am too weak to be an addict, even to something as simple as cigarettes - my constant companion. I don't know that this pain, this anxiety, I feel is directly related to that, although it often seems the culprit, if memory serves correctly.

I could be wrong.

It could be that I feel the anxiety because I am like Theresa Caputo and the deceased, or other-worldly, are trying desperately to communicate with me. It could be that my intuition is screaming about something else.

I've had anxiety before when I was gently refusing to clearly see what was right in front of me. That little excursion brought me to my knees - like I had a rope around my neck and the universe, along with my inside self, yanked me down to my knees with it.

I don't know if this is the case now, you never know these things when you're in the eye of the storm. So all I can say is that I feel the pain of discomfort. The only thing one can do in these circumstances is to ask the universe to "reveal itself."

It sounds corny, but it's true enough. Reveal yourself.

What is there that I should know and I will walk through it. I will lay down my cards, forgive my hand, and... meet the storm.

I would rather that. I would rather there be something rather than nothing.

"There is a move," I hear or make up that I heard. There is a fundamental breakdown in my foundation - a blessing. A longing to feel real.