Bundle of Knots

Have you ever felt a knot in your gut? The kind that’s tight and wont let you breathe properly or swallow or speak…or do anything really?

Imagine having a bunch of those. And imagine they move. So sometimes, they´re in your stomach making you feel like hunger is a distant dream and food seems as tempting as a bunch of cardboard cutouts coated with sawdust; and sometimes they’re in your throat so when you drink something it goes down in choke-y bursts, threatening to make you gag with every swallow. Sometimes it`s in your eye like a dust-mote, making you blink back something hot and wet; and sometimes – like now – it`s in your mind and in your heart and in your soul, knotting up your fingers so that you need to sit back and just take deep (knotty) breaths before you can find the next coherent thought to write out.

Which makes you wonder why you`re writing anything out in the first place.

I don`t know how it works and I don`t know if it works for everyone, but before I sat to write this, all there was inside was a bunch of tangled emotions: confusion, anticipation, pain, longing, hurt (which can be very different from pain) and they were all fighting for attention. Now as I write this, I can pick one, look at it and then put it aside for a while and pick another one, trying to figure out why each feels so different but still manages to scrape away at the same emptiness inside, slowly making the hole bigger and bigger.

Perhaps talking about it would help, but I tend to do it with an ulterior motive: seeking solutions and answers. Writing things out, I don`t even know if this will get read, who will read it and if they even know me. That means there`s no expectation that the reader will come and take away all this mess and make things right again.

I guess for me writing is a way to remind myself that beyond the lifeless paper-screen and the keyboard I use to give my thoughts a form, there is no one else with magic answers. That at the end of the day, I have only myself to lean on and rely on. Only myself to sit and untangle the knots with.

When I was younger and did a lot more craft work, I remember working out knots from endless lengths of yarn. I`d untangle silk threads and chains with equal enthusiasm. Seeing a bunch of knots gave me a high, because I knew the challenge that awaited me and the sense of satisfaction at having saved the thread was amazing.

It meant I had worked hard for something I believed in and something that I valued. It meant hadn`t given up…and I think in my perspective I`ve just managed to give a few inches of thread more importance than I was given myself.

Perhaps writing things out isn`t such a good idea after all…

S’laams,
bA.

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