My name is Kyle. I am currently a recovering head-injury survivor. I’m here today all thanks to God and His mercy.
I deserve nothing more than all that life has to offer. Innocence smells great hanging around my neck.
The biggest struggles I face these days are half-manufactured in my head, half invisible to everyone else. I feel not feeling safe expressing myself continues to have a damaging impact on the results I see.
Believe me, I’d be the biggest, morning-nap-taking, post-lunch snacking teddy bear you could ever imagine if I wasn’t constantly choking myself. It’s my gigantic, throbbing heart stuck in my throat most days.
I live in a room of self-erected walls that I lost the key to get out of independently. I locked it up, nervous my identity would be tarnished. I felt endangered being myself. Yes, I hushed my own tender loving care, heart, voice and growing confidence to appease those who threatened my success. I feel and have felt like innocent admiration, affection and dedication would get me locked up in legit harsher boarding houses.
I’m a seed and I need air currents, warmth from the sun and injected nutrients to grow into a tall, beautiful sunflower. I indeed draw analogies because I don’t feel safe injecting myself into any of these equations. If I express love, I’ll be shot on the spot. That’s a horrible feeling. I’ve drawn lines, pushed people away and hidden under my bed afraid. I caved.
I’d love to express to certain young’ins they still have a dominating influence in my life. See, I still skirt around the edges of full acknowledgement sensing heat and damning eyes staring at me.
Mary, catch me falling apart. Please. Nik, let’s throw a bridal shower on your farm and walk down the aisle sticking our tongues out at the haters. Sarah P., I still remember looking forward to seeing you at Thursday night Skateaway parties. Our fifth grade relationship was the realest thing at that time in my life. I look past umteen years shortly after for they weren’t fair.
I was the cool kid back then fully transitioning from public to private. You remember those shades, Ocean Pacific? Slightly torn flannel, looked way too good on me while styling my Pipes Lee jeans. I had some suave roller blades too. My heart beats so hard, the echoes scare me sounding like footsteps. These burglars snatched up my loving heart’s output and tore that shii from the walls.
I went through phases of loving output because beating my head against the wall with no empathy heard or felt left me cringing and in self-defense mode.
I haven’t opened this can of whoopass in so long. I’ve missed feeling like Kong tbh with you. I felt like I was in the wrong for studying and applying bible-enforced notions the holy ghost-son gave his life for.
I did not feel secure explaining to walls that they just couldn’t see the way “she” looked back at me. I feel like i gotta be the rock. That’s a tall freaking order too in this world of too-soft, overly emotional and over-reacting fools getting bent out of shape over me sending dozens of roses to unsuspecting Mrs. Keech wannabees.
Hah, if I still, or ever had direct contact information, I’d be in touch with resort destination offices again, sending them all on all expense-paid trips, again. I pay for most of everything with the sweat off my brow. I put God first. I cut the grass, feed the dogs and wash the cars on my off time. I wish that I got respect too. I wish I felt encouraged to put my best foot forward when it counted.
My head is still down, I’m still pushing and still running on this hamster wheel feeling like i must be getting closer, doing everything I can to show
I care. I can’t force anybody to listen intentionally, see my efforts or read the lines I lay out in a public forum no matter how hard I try, I guess. Oh well. I’ll just stay baking cakes and basking in the sun hoping and praying someone, anyone, picks up on the reassurance I’ve pleaded for.
HAVE A KICK ASS MF’n DAY Homie! 1.
I like this story / blog keep up the good work.