I Am, or I Am Not

I feel as if I am drifting at the mercy of things unseen. I have surrendered to it, knowing that I have no control on what is to unfold for me. I have no idea of a destination, or maybe I am just afraid of appointing a destination because I find myself always disappointed. I thought I knew myself but it seems as if the more I explore who I am the less I know. I feel though I am and have always been a contradiction. As if I am some mash-up of ideas that together have no business coexisting nor do they make sense and yet somehow I am all of these things anyway.

I do not know anymore at the core of myself if I am good or bad? Who decides the standards on these things and why did anyway get to make a standard for everyone else? I never could be what others felt I should be. I do not think I have ever existed in my skin without those around me trying to make me less of some things and more of others. I was never viewed as alright as I am. I was never considered proper as a child. Growing up in a family with old-fashioned values and beliefs. Where a woman was to be of service to her husband unquestioning and quiet.

They attempted to groom me for a life as a wife and to be a lady, but I was never going to be what was expected because that was never who I was. I had the mouth of a sailor by age 8 and I couldn’t have been less ladylike. I questioned everything and pushed back on obvious double standards. I swore my own oath to never make a man’s plate and hand it to him, seeing my grandmother’s unwavering servitude for my grandfather. I would matter of fact ask what was wrong with his own hands that he couldn’t ever pour a drink himself. I asked him once, it wasn’t well received. My dad started calling me by my great-grandmother’s name because she had a didn’t care attitude and a lot of sass. She was also considered mean though, in reality, she just had an opinion and shared it unapologetically.

The older I get the more people and life confuse me. The less I understand of my feelings and desires. The less I know of the reality I was force-fed growing up and the more isolated I feel. I do not think there has ever been a time in my life I have felt this alone and misunderstood. I do not see things as others see them making it increasingly harder to relate to a reality I am not sure officially exists. I know in truth my spirit is growing, and my soul is learning but growing pains are never easy. I have danced in the brightest of light and the darkest of nights sometimes skipping back and forth seamlessly between them on any given day. I am a hopeless romantic with a chronically broken heart questioning if love is even real. A daydreamer out of dreams, a dreamwalker finding my way in endless realms of alternate realities but lost in my own.


Published by izzysconfessions

I was born and raised in the smallest of towns in Southwest Virginia. A town that is extraordinarily active, yet a town that is like it's very own little mini Bible belt. My dad was Baptist, my mom pentecostal, and I'm paranormal. I would venture to say it is somewhat of a family trait. One that is met with equal acceptance and curiosity as much as it is met with skepticism. Individually and collectively so much has been experienced and witnessed at times to such a degree that one might wonder how on earth there is room for doubt. I dont have all the answers, I do not have it all figured out. Im as human as everyone else relying heavily many mornings on a lot of coffee and a little Jesus. In fact, I can't decide what I want for dinner most days. One constant is I cannot go a single day without chocolate. Pour a cup of coffee, or a little tea and whiskey and join me in my confessions of a haunted freak.

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