The baggage

There are days when you become cognizant of the weight you’re carrying. When you can feel the heaviness in your heart and brain and you feel you cannot keep walking with this.

To willfully ignore how you’re feeling is then easier than to sit with your thoughts and come to terms with all that you’re feeling.

I’m happier in the days that I ignore the baggage. But I also realise how short term this fix is. When I look within, I see years of trauma piled on and intertwined. One furthering the other. Where do I start? How do I start?

Will these ever vanish? The weight of the unresolved and unanswered past is weighing on me. And I only know that no matter how hard and confusing it is to unravel these, I must do it. For my own sake of feeling that I’m in this world to treasure the good and not only carry the weight of the bad forever.

There are moments of sheer joy, but these are short-lived. I’m not full even in those moments. A portion of me is joyous, but I’m as a whole, lost and feeling a mix of things I cannot explain.

There are questions I want to ask so many people. The whys keep me awake and torture me in my dreams. But I know that it is futile to ask these questions. And to accept that the answer is never going to come… and to accept that even if it does come, it may not be the truth… kills me. Feels almost like an unexplainable mysterious crime scene. All we know is that there is a victim and a perpetrator. But we will never fully know how or why this happened. And to live with that reality is the weight that I carry.

The baggage of never knowing the truth.