2 in the Morning

They say that if you pay close attention to the universe it actually sends you signs, whether towards your professional path or personal path.

As of lately I have been meditating for 10 minutes a day, mainly as an aid in helping with my anxiety and I’ve taken up Yoga for fitness plus it’s a great stress reliever. See, I’ve been off my personal game and I hate feeling so off.

Career wise I’m moving along at a balanced pace. Recently I did a week long blog tour for Dear You, will be doing a second blog tour in a couple of weeks, but this time it is a month long, I have pretty much finished my latest manuscript and am researching publishers to submit it to. I’ve started dabbling my hand at a fictional novel along with a couple other new opportunities that have come my way. Slowly, but surely the writing gig is growing strong.

My personal game, well I’ll be honest, I’m struggling. I have no queries with myself persay, I know who I am and what I want in life. I’ve rebuilt my confidence and have finally gotten to that beautiful place of inner contentment. It’s been one hell of a journey taken to get to this point, a few storms nearly wiped me out, but I’m still here standing strong and grateful for the whole experience thus far.

And yet, when that infamous 2am hour hits my fears seem to invade my mind and feed off of my deep insecurities.

The other night while sitting on the patio, sippin’ on a cup of “life juice” and soaking in the lyrics to Let You Down by NF, I rolled up the sleeves of my hoodie as I was getting a bit warm and my attention was drawn to the ink on my right arm. Embedded under my skin is every defining moment of my life, it breaks my heart to know that every one of those defined moments was a storm. However, every storm brings a rainbow. This ink represents both how the world tried to end me and how I survived. This somehow shrinks down when that clock strikes 2.

You want to know where my mind goes at that hour, what that warrior ink temporarily morphs into?

At 2am that ink becomes my demise, I run my left hand across that tatt and wonder if this is actually the reason why I haven’t found love yet. Is this actually my label signifying that I am “damaged” rather than a “warrior”? Will certain traits such as my personality, intelligence, my heart ever count for anything? Or are physical features the only aspect that is priority? If so then I am truly fucked, all because of these scars from those surgeries and a life cursed by a rare disorder. All of which I have zero control over. A life that I never asked for, but took and made it my own.

I’m beginning to wonder if my fate will ever mirror the image of Jack & Sally that’s embedded on my back.

Honestly, real talk here…I’m losing this tight grip I have on my faith in ever finding my missing piece.

See, I’ve been searchin’ for somethin’ out there, when is it comin’? Tell me what to tell myself… -Machine Gun Kelly

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