“When the uniqueness of a place sings to us like a melody, then we will know, at last, what it means to be at home.”
~ Paul Gruchow
I feel so grateful for my home, right now.
Sometimes my system, my body, feels so gentle and fragile I just need to wrap myself up in my duvet and stay there for a long while. I am getting so so much better at trusting this is okay. At trusting that I just need to feel safe, and it’s okay to give myself what I need. It’s okay – and essential – to give myself the feeling, and sense, of safety. Something I never knew. But sometimes the trauma energy running through me is overwhelming. Like on today.
The minute I dip into myself – writing expressively in my journal, I get lost in an overwhelm of triggering. What lies beneath my skin is a whirlwind of trauma needing to be seen, but sometimes it gets too much and I need to live. Something, again, that is changing. I used to continue to dive deep, and delve into what I found, only leaving me feeling more traumatised and shaken than I was before.
Right now, the foundations outside myself – my life – feel so shaky and thin, because in a sense, they are. I am floating between homes, on the hunt for the perfect one. Sure, there is no such thing as perfection, but there is such a thing as feeling safe. Something I haven’t felt in any of the homes I have visited or looked at the last two months. In that sense, life feels dangerous because of the inconsistency and the fragility of my surroundings and situation. That’s why my bed feels the safest place to be at the moment. With my back, there’s also a real need to be horizontal and resting too, but emotionally I think I need it too. I need gentle movement outside but quickly to come back to where I know I’m safe. I have an air around my body at the moment of feeling abused…it feels like old trauma here to be healed, but it gets a touch overwhelming and can leave me confused.
It feels like a young person, wrapped up in my body. It feels like my inner child is needing somebody. She needs to know she’s safe, and she’s held and won’t be abused. She needs to know she can be somewhere and not be abused. She needs to know she can have the love and gentleness and acceptance she so deeply deserves. She needs to know she can be somewhere and really be heard. I feel like all this constant moving is taking its toll, on her sense of safety and really feeling held. But on the flip side, the fact that I haven’t just moved into any old place, is actually a sign of true love and nurturance to her and to me…I keep having to remind myself of this.
It’s the imminent move on Thursday that I think is at the forefront of my mind. I haven’t decided where yet, but there are three places to choose from. In that sense, I’m grateful, but in that sense I’m also overwhelmed. Each of them have their down points and each of them have their bits they fall short on… the feeling of safety being the number one thing that each slightly impact in their own unique way. I have the living room of a beautiful home only three doors up the street, for ten days that I will then move upstairs into a beautiful room, when the current tenants go on holiday. But it’s the feeling of being in the living room, the feeling of my space being invaded that rocks me and leaves me feeling naked. Then there’s the friends of friends who have offered their spare room but the first week, it would only be me and the guy and that doesn’t make me feel safe. It feels simpler and more straightforward and like I wouldn’t be in the way, but I feel like I need to be strict with myself and listen to the trauma that I know is there and not put myself somewhere just with the hope that I’ll feel safe, but to listen to that trauma and let myself just be safe, without having to work on it. Then there’s another place that is twenty mins walk away, in a nice little home but one I don’t feel safe in. One that
So the option that feels like it sticks out, is the one just a few doors up. But it’s that sense of feeling like my space is invaded. Because my personal space is all I need right now, and feels so valuable and important, it literally feels abusive to have people in my rooms…I hadn’t noticed that until I had a craniosacral practitioner/friend come and do treatment here with me, and it really rocked me. I talked myself into it because I knew it would be lovely and feel like a treat to not move from my perch and be pampered. And in that sense it was, or at least it was before I had the treatment. I felt important and looked after. Two mega important things to feel. But when she was here, I felt an air of trauma – I felt unsafe, but I didn’t really know how to voice it and so I didn’t. I did my best and made sure she worked with areas I felt safe, but it didn’t click until afterwards that I just didn’t want people in my space. And I haven’t invited friends up here because of the same thing. Quick visits, yes, but longer stays, no – I don’t like the idea of people being here, when here is all the security I’ve got.
So that’s why I feel nervous about taking the living room space. It feels the safest option of all three, but it feels intrusive and potentially abusive just having people in my space, or not feeling like it’s totally mine. But maybe it’ll be okay, and maybe they won’t need to really use it.
What this shows me though, is how sacred my space is and how important this is, and how normal this must be considering everything. Normality feels the key to reminding me it’s okay. Not that fucking normal really exists, but sometimes it does to me. In a healthy way.
My space is my refuge. My space is my place to be me. My space is my safety net, somewhere I know I am free and contained and connected all at the same time. It’s where I can go beneath the business and uncertainty of outside, and what I find is me. What I find might be tender, fragile and uncertain, but in there too is an infinite strength and wisdom that’s guiding me through. And at the moment, with not having a permanent home and not having a place I know I can permanently be, it just makes even more sense that this fragility would feel at the forefront and this fragility would feel like it all encompasses me. Like it is so everlasting it’ll be here forever and I won’t be able to do anything else, EVERR… But that’s because of the instability, the place my life is at, it just leaves me with a bedroom – the only place I know is really mine. Not a house, not a huge big space to call home, just a room that I have for now…
So of course my space – wherever I am sleeping – is going to feel important and in need of protecting…because it is! And I think this shows me, health.
For the last 4 days I haven’t had a desk. It’s felt like 4 months. I didn’t realise quite how much I need one – I almost contemplated trading the mattress I just bought for one, but I figured I think I need a bed more than a desk. Especially the amount of time I flippin’ spend resting on it. So I kept the mattress but I have been longing for a desk. I have hardly written and I have really felt it.
I am a touch on the high side due to the close company I’ve been having with paints for the last 24 hours but I was too chuffed with my creation and set-up that I had to share it on here before I head out the door to breath non-toxic air.
It all started with a hunt around town, with a determination to find a desk by the end of the afternoon. I didn’t quite find the dream wooden one I wanted, so I went with a £20 fake wood one that I was going to paint.
Which I did. The floor and my feet and legs and hand and face got a bit of a coating too.
I spent about an hour with a hardware store salesman yesterday – the rocking way to spend a Saturday night. Eventually I decided on colours and eventually I painted the desk how I wanted it. I wasn’t quite convinced but I just was desperate for a desk, and desperate for non-toxic air, so I went for this colour scheme here:
Now it’s beginning to feel like home.
Sweet. I am slightly concerned about the lifespan of the white-ness, but right now I am chuffed and that is what’s important. Coasters – and any other protective thing I can think of to protect it from my
clumsiness creative ways – are on the shopping list.
I’m moving house this week and to say I’m stressed is an under statement. I actually feel like I am going to physically explode…y’know those cartoons that you see of people stressed, with steam streaming out of their ears? Well, thass me.
I am so over moving house. So. Over. I am so bored of not having steady feet beneath me. I want to say it’s just been this last year that this has been the case, but it isn’t/it hasn’t. Since the age of 18 I have never lived somewhere longer than 8 months…I have stayed in the same place for longer than this but moved rooms/homes. Initially it was travelling, then it was university, and then it was being an unintentional kinda nomad with my ex-boyfriend. And then I was just being a bit of a nomad with myself. Not initially, sometimes initially, but most of the time it just kinda happened that way. I remember when I was a teenager I said that I wanted to live the life where I spent six months in one country, in one season, and then six months in another, in a different season…i.e. snowboarding one season and surfing the next. I thought I strayed far from this path when I hit university and found my dream. I thought that ponder/dream was just that…but now I realise that my life, the last few years, has kinda happened that way. Except I’ve spent six months here, six months there – sometimes in the UK, sometimes not.
I have deliberated and DELIBERATED about moving to where I’m moving to. I have been house hunting for about a month and checked out various places that I have ended up being so relieved I have said no to. I said yes to one place and then listened to my instinct and ended up saying no. I then found this little place I’m moving to and I have literally only just definitely decided this evening. I have still been looking at other places but this evening looked at another and realised I think I am doing the right thing. Or at least I am choosing the best option out of the options at my fingertips right now.
Fuck I’ve noticed a lot throughout this whole process. I’ve noticed my patterns, I’ve noticed my fears, I’ve noticed what I can handle, I’ve noticed what I can’t all at once, I’ve noticed the deep running fuck-ups my mum has left behind in me, I’ve noticed I’m really getting to grips with boundaries, I’ve noticed my ‘commitment issues’, I’ve noticed my fear of settling down and feeling stuck. But the main thing I’ve noticed is that I really need a home. A HOME.
It is weird how much this move is affecting me. But in a way, it’s really not. Of all the years, this has been the one that I have needed a wholesome healthy stable base the most…yet I have had quite the opposite. Until now that is. But this place I have stayed in the last five months, I always knew would come to an end because the house is being sold…it was only a matter of when.
This move feels like it’s happening for real this time. Slowly, the last two moves I begun to be phased by them. I could see I was rocked by the fact I was moving, but never in this way. It’s almost like I’ve been working my way towards really truly feeling like you’ve hit base, and the thought of upheaval just brings you out in hives. Well, if I had hives I would have them now.
I used to look at friends moving house and wonder how they were so stressed…I never really ‘got it’. Well, now I do. And I’m not even moving a whole house – I’m just moving me and my room, and the rest of the shit scattered about the place. In a sense though, that is a house. It’s just I don’t own the other shit that is no doubt going to gather over the next few years.
I don’t know how the next few days are going to happen but I know they will – they always do. I feel like I’m going to explode but all I keep thinking is just to hold on tight to the wave, and ride it, and hope that others will jump on with their surfboards (and bedroom furniture and cars) too. The room is unfurnished which is a bit of a bitch, but also kinda exciting because it means I get to make it mine, fo’ real. I bought a mattress that will be being delivered on Wednesday, to the new place. I have a wardrobe that somehow I will collect from my friends, and then the rest will have to come over the week. Right now all I can muster up is the beans to co-ordinate this last day or two, and then the next two. Right now a chest of drawers and a writing desk are way off my mind, but I know the minute I set foot in my room with bags and boxes all around I’ll dream of marrying Ikea.
I feel like my life is changing. I feel like this move is showing me so. I feel like I chose this place over the other options because I want to give this life a go – the cosy, tidy, cute, homely, life a go. I want to try leaving the student living life behind. And of all the times I need it, it couldn’t be more so now. I feel like this move is setting up the pathway for my future to come. It’s taking guts, and balls, and navigating deep running kick ass fears, but I just feel like I deserve it.
Let’s hope I don’t explode, the hives stay at bay, my body chills the fuck out a bit, I manage to get all the help I need, and I find some cute-as furniture to hang out with me. Oh, and did I mention I hadn’t even started packing? Nah.
There is something they don’t tell you about this healing business: you can know a whole bunch of stuff about self-care, self-love, release, resourcing, the art of therapy, etc, but knowing it and needing it is not the same as wanting it. I’m talking really truly wanting it – with almost every part of your being (we will never ever want total health with every part, because that is just how us weird humans work.)
I remember when I had the first bout of chronic fatigue a few years back, and I realised then that you have to want to get better, to get better. This might sound obvious but it isn’t when you’re ‘in it’…it takes a while to get there, to the point of realising this and then to get to the point of wanting. And, I am completely aware that this could bring judgment – and why shouldn’t it, really? – from people that haven’t been in that position…”WHY THE HELL DON’T YOU WANT TO GET BETTER, MAN?” Tell me about it.
But, it’s not as simple as that. And, you can think you want to get better, but then a month or a year down the line you realise you so didn’t…you so weren’t ready yet. There’s a mixture of wanting it, and being ready, too. This is where the lines blur. For me anyways. I’m yet to truly be bothered to de-blur them, but there is something to do with the deep running need to be fragile, needy, restful, for a while…filling gaps from childhood and allowing time to heal the crazy stress before I fill it with my chosen stress, yo. To me this just makes sense, and I know it does to a lot of others – many professionals included – too. When these needs have been met and my body has had a proper rest, and my mind too, those parts of me will want health also. See – the want runs subconsciously too…it’s not just a case of desire, although this definitely plays a part too and something that keeps the flame of life and the desire to thrive, burning. Along with this flame and this desire, there are those unmet needs and it’s a case of when they have been met and have softened or fallen away, that there will then be gaps that want to be filled with life, love, adventure…health. That flame keeps your spirit alive – not that it ever really would stop, but perhaps the flame just makes the spirit feel more alive.
Make sense? Possibly/probably not…it only just does to me. Articulating it is a bitch. And my brain still feels EMDR-fried.
Something I have begun to notice recently is that this want is coming, and is pretty much here. It hasn’t been til now. Or at least it has been but not as deeply as now. I’ve often thought it has, but then I noticed it wasn’t really. And maybe that’s how it goes – over these last few years, I’ve ebbed and flowed between the want and the fear and then the want and the fear, and now they feel like they’re living paradoxically. And I’m letting them.
Of course I’ve wanted it before now, but I’m talking the true WANTING I mention above. I’ve craved it, I’ve sobbed about not having it, I’ve wanted to give my left leg for fucking emotional and physical ease, but there’s been part of me that hasn’t been ready and hasn’t wanted it, and that part has been buckling me at the knees. But, this part comes from trauma and a lifelong knowing of nothing else, so why the hell would I suddenly dive into a trust and a desire to have things differently…and more easy? Time is definitely the only thing that heals this…time and proof that this kind of way of life is in fact the way forward. And, most of all – it’s safe.
There was plenty more I was going to type about this but I need to go check out a bed for my new room. I think I’m moving in there, although I am still deciding between it and another place, but one of the places is unfurnished so if I do end up going there – which I have a feeling I will – I need to go get me some furniture.
Happy Sunday. What are you doing for yours?
I went to see my herbalist today – she’s so rad. It’s amazing when after so long of looking, trying, attempting…things do click into place. She’s ‘on it’. She’s taken my health into her hands and letting me let go. Until now I have been on it. Now it’s her turn. This is healing beyond words. For so long I have needed to have control, to keep the notes, to watch what’s happening from day to day or hour to hour. But now I can hand it over…let it go. Of course, I am aware and conscious to what’s happening and that is something we all need to be, but there’s a balance. There’s a balance of healthy awareness and overwhelming or obsessive awareness that both come from not enough support, or more importantly – not the right support.
Healing happens in so many ways. Words are just one element of the mix. There’s the nourishment that comes from movement, food, self-care, love, fun, connection, distraction/focus on your passions. As I dealt with the morocco trauma last EMDR session, I have noticed how with something like that – for me – I realise that actually the healing doesn’t necessarily come from sitting down and talking about it. In a way, this just lays the foundations. The buildings of healing that build themselves strong, and form a protective shell around you, come through all the other stuff too. I’ve been craving people, love, friendships, this week and now I realise why. That feeling of safety and that feeling of love is one of the most healing things out there. I have a felt a deep sense of unhappiness about the lack of Sofa Time happening in my life at the moment. I met up with an old friend, who’s more like a sister, yesterday. We hadn’t seen each other in at least 8 months, which is so freakin’ long. When we sat next to each and hugged, I welled up and could have burst into tears. It took all my might to keep the tears in and I almost ran out of the tipi we were in, to the toilets outside to sob. I didn’t. Instead I stayed there and just let the pain come in a wave and get shoved back down again.
It was a pain that was from a lacking, a longing, a missing. I miss that – I miss family like friends around me. I miss sitting on a sofa knitting and watching telly, or snuggling up in a bed and talking until 2am, or just lying in bed and rolling over and reading our books back to back until we drift off to sleep. I miss this closeness with friends. My old home town, where I have just got back from visiting, is the epitome of this for me. That’s what those friends do. Here we are so close but we don’t have so much of the snuggles. Snuggles are important. Maybe I need to initiate some.
It’s so amazing since working on Morocco, there has been a freedom in my body that has come. And there has been an inkling of awareness to the fact that someday soon it will just be something that happened to me. It won’t hold the charge or the disgustingness or the terror…and it is SO almost there, I can feel it. I feel like beneath it are layers of healing that kind of overwhelm me, but I see that even through this slight snippet of healing that has happened the last two weeks, the empowerment and connection in myself that has come is mega. So that is worth it, for sure.
In session today with my herbalist, we spoke of my sleeping. Which we often do seeing as it’s a bit of a bitch. It has been for a while – it’s the first thing to go, as she says. Well I’m not sure where the hell it went but I hope it’s having a jolly good time on its holiday. I sleep, but I go to bed late, midnight ish, and wake early, 7am ish. I am an early bird, we all know that is how I roll, but I am an early night bird too – I am certainly not an owl, although I feel like I’m becoming one recently. Anyways, to cut a long story short, it turns out I need to buy some curtains…I love not having any. Our windows are mega massive and when I moved in there was a shonky half-curtain with a safety pinned extra bit of fabric to the bottom…it looked shit. So I took it down and love the big wide window and the fresh light coming in in the morning. But I don’t like that I am not getting enough sleep. So maybe this is (one of) the answer (s). That and this healing game that is happening. I have a feeling (that has been there for a long while), and so does my rad herbalist, that all this physical palaver that is happening and has been happening for a long while, is so so down to all the trauma. I mean, it just makes sense. On paper and in my head. It was a nice pat of reassurance to hear my herbalist confirm this today.
Maybe in my new house, I’ll invest in some proper good cosy thick-ass curtains, and I’ll turn into a morning Robin rather than a groggy night owl. That’ll be nice.
Y’know when the house work just piles up, you can’t find the beans to sort it out, but even if you can you just don’t want to because you’re too whacked and you want to use any energy you do have to do something nice? This goes for any kinda fatigue, not just the chronic kind. And this is something that happens in every household…or at least I hope it does!
This is what it looks like to me, except I don’t own orange pants and I kinda wish my dishes looked like this but instead they tend to be sprawled out onto every surface possible until they’re thrown in the sink with a tonne of washing up liquid.
It’s been cartoon central this week so this is the first of a few.
There’s something fucking funny about Chronic Fatigue. Heartbreaking, but fucking funny.
The way that twenty minutes after getting up, you have to get back into bed again. The way that halfway through a meal I am too tired to keep eating so I stop and come back to it later, when it’s cold and withered…or I continue at it but can hardly chew, so end up giving myself indigestion because I’ve ingested whole chunks of chicken as apposed to nicely chewed mouthfuls.
Today is a classic one of those kinda days. I am so fucking tired I can hardly function but I can’t just lie in bed because…well, I just can’t. So instead I get up for ten minutes and attempt to do something, but am so fatigued I end up lying right where I started in the first place: BED. I have made my bed three times already and it’s only 12pm, each time with the motivation that that will be the last time I am lying in it today…but this kinda tiredness is as though I have been smacked in the face with a spade and am wearing a rucksack filled with a thousand tins of beans.
It’s days like this I just want guidance. Guidance on how to manage this fecking thing. Like, am I feeling so exhausted because I have been trying so hard to get back into the world of work, and use my focus and energy and adrenaline (what’s left of it) to do productive stuff that I love? Or do I feel so tired because I got a lot of sun yesterday, on a lovely walk, with friends? Or do I feel tired because of the PMDD shit that’s going on, and it’s just that ‘time of the month’? Or do I feel tired because I am in the process of somatic experiencing (releasing trauma)? Or am I tired because I’m eating something that isn’t working for me? Or am I tired because it’s a combination of all those things? Or am I tired just for the crack?
All I want to do for myself today is walk to my favourite hill just down the road – it is hardly even a hill, so exertion is minimal – and write my journal. The minute I woke up that is what I wanted to do. There are, of course a bunch of other stuff I want and need to do, and will do, but this is the nurturing and resourcing thing I want to do. But have I got there? NO. I have headed out the door twice but crumbled on the bench half a second from the front door, feeling too like shit to continue.
But I can’t just lie around. Beneath this fatigue is a bunch of fucking anger at this situation, and this needs to be heard because otherwise it just buzzes around my body and makes everything ten times worse. In these moments, or on these days, it’s like a battle between what needs to be done and what you want to do, to keep your soul alive. The kitchen was looking as though a bunch of vegetable munching and tahini eating teenagers had had a week long party and not washed up for any of it…a lot of this mess is/was mine. So I knew today was the today something needed to be done about it but I felt too shit to wash up. Plus, I wanted to use any inch of motivation to do something nice for me.
On the second bench-sit-down/failed attempt to reach my hill, I decided to attack the sink. And what followed was hilarious. I was so cold but didn’t have the energy to walk up the two flights of stairs to my room to get some trousers and a jumper (today it’s sunny so I’m wearing shorts, obv.), AND do the washing up. That’s how it goes – work out how I can expend the least amount of energy possible, to conserve it for what’s needed. So, I got my down jacket and put it on and just imagined that my legs were super warm too. They weren’t. They were fucking freezing. I whacked on the hot water full pelt and squirted a months supply of washing up liquid onto my sponge, turned the music up in my ears, and started WASHING UP. And then…I started to cry. And then…I couldn’t stop! It would have been a fucking hilarious sight but thankfully no-one was there to see it. Me with bubbles up my elbows, water flying everywhere, my down jacket getting a soaking, my legs in goose bumps, and me sobbing over the sink.
I sobbed, I scrubbed, I sobbed, I scrubbed. And then I looked around and it was all clean! But I wanted some more of that…the sobbing felt like such a release. And so I attacked the cooker too. I sobbed and scrubbed that too, but this felt a bit like I was trying too hard and the cooker is a bitch to clean, so I left that not feeling so inspired…more, frustrated.
I don’t know if I’m doing this ‘right’. I don’t know if there is a better way to manage your energy. I sure as hell think there is, but I haven’t worked it out yet. I don’t know if it’s good to push yourself sometimes. I don’t know if when I do, that is what makes me ten times worse the following day (PROBABLY). But what I do know is that to keep my soul alive I need to feel normal, human and capable. So, maybe what I needed was to move this anger around and have an outlet – the dirty dishes – and get it going. And it clearly worked. These kind of mini breakdowns is where healing happens: keeping it stuffed inside is where it doesn’t.
If in doubt, wash up. And if in even more doubt, wash up and have a good sob.
My heart lifts, my eyes soften,
At the memories of the love was given,
That still is given.
Insecurities cast across doubt,
Floating over the support and words shown,
Clouding the possibility that I belong.
There you stood, always beaming,
Always happy to see me, which always left me confused.
Without you, the flight back would have been haunting,
Instead I felt held and part of a family.
Looking back now it feels like a marathon I was running,
One that added onto the last.
Now I have had some time to breath and am beginning to find my feet as my own new me,
I wish I could go back and do it again.
I wish I could go back and feel that love I felt for and from you.
Mary too – I wish I could really go back and see the care and see the support.
Is this normal, to look back and wish?
To look back and wish you could be who you are now, back then.
All those synchronicities – the way it flowed,
The easiness through which I glowed.
I wonder if this is normal,
I wonder if this is life,
To always look back and wonder,
And wish you could have taken a breath.
To feel slightly unconnected to the being that you were during that time.
I have a feeling this is slightly young age too.
Mid twenties perhaps will begin to bring,
That ability to sing the song you want to sing,
Rather than bring the qualities you think you need to bring.
I look back on it all and feel a heart filled with warmth,
A mind filled with wonder,
A soul filled with nurture.
But beneath it is suffering, is pain,
Is a knowing that I was continuing on like everything was the same.
There was effortless struggle,
Like you said, the morning we spoke in the hospital:
I was obviously hurting more than you knew.
But that’s because I didn’t say anything.
I kept it schtum. I kept it close.
Because that is what I knew to do.
Noone said I needed to take a break,
Or be soft and settled and broken down.
Instead I continued on like it was all normal and natural:
To be living the other side of the world,
To be uncovering and diving into your past,
To be bringing up pain from years you have never thought back to,
To be sharing this with noone but yourself,
To be heading on that bus to the city,
For the weekly therapy that you felt necessary.
I believe it was,
It made now be true,
It was a part of the path to you.
But I don’t know if it was right,
I didn’t know if it was what I should do.
But it happened so easily,
It flowed so smooth,
It had progress written deeply across the waves.
I see the overdose as a final point,
But like I was just told days ago,
It was a blip, it was not the final destination.
Hold yourself and trust yourself,
This is a journey of discovery,
A journey of truth.
What happens is what is,
And what doesn’t happen can get lost.
What I do want to take,
Is a knowledge of love,
Is that heart warming sense of support,
The belonging I have over there still.
I will always have a home there on that Californian soil,
I will always have a heart left in that nugget of life.
I wish so hard I could do things differently.
I wish so hard I could speak the words that I want to share,
With those over there.
But it will come,
I’m still here,
They are still there.
There is no rush.
Let nature take its course,
And trust that it is a good one.
Trust that it will ease up and soften.
You will one day look back –
This isn’t forever,
It just cannot be.
All those around you say the same thing,
And so take those words from those you trust,
And know you are doing your complete utmost,
And it is worth every cent of sweat.
You are worth every cent.
I could type forever about the memories I want to treasure,
But the joy of keeping them close is enough for now,
And I will trust when the time is right,
I will write them true and gold.
Because that is what they are –
Showered with pain, they hold a glistening that I would not change for tomorrow.
I do just want to hold a trust that what you say is what you mean,
And that special connection you have for me,
Is true all the same.
Despite the distance,
Despite the shame,
That is my stuff – that is me,
They can take a hike for now,
Forever in fact.
They hold no place here –
You shower support,
You shower inspiration,
You shower me shining,
And that right now is what I need.
So that right now, is what I will feed.
I will keep that connection close and that love deep,
And feel that family you are offering up,
And put it in my pocket,
As I step down life’s bizarre road.
All I want to be is back there,
All I want to feel is the Californian wind in my hair.
But for now it can be a memory –
Not a banished truth.
Because what you did was make life move.