The Hands that Hold Me

My emotions have got the best of me once again tonight. The nighttime seems to be the worse for whatever reason, at least during the day the light that flows in from outside gives me the peace and solitude I need to sleep. Maybe I am just more touchy than normal, or maybe people whom I am close to are less understanding. Could be a mixture of both, but my guess is that it’s me, it usually is. I feel like I am completely defensive. I feel like I am partially under attack by those whose hands in which I place my heart and soul, raw and broken. I trust my heart in those hands. Hands that have never physically touched me, hands I have never even seen. Those are the hands I trust. They are the ones that cannot hurt me, instead they take my vulnerable heart and they caress it, they nurture it and they help to keep me alive. It’s those same hands that are making me feel vulnerable tonight, judged almost. Can I blame those hands? No. Can I blame my own? No. 

How does the paranormal fit in? It fits in more than anyone would ever choose to believe. The feelings that plague me, taunt me, torture me, aren’t my own. I pick the energy (especially the negative) out of the air around me. Some of them come from my friends, or people I am close to, but for the most part it is pain and suffering of my own that is being put on replay by these lesser evils. I do my best to escape, yet I am trapped. The phantom phone calls, the random knocks on the door, the bruises, the scratches, the blood, they all come from an unseen source, just like the feelings of dread and trepidation aren’t my own. This is all stuff that is being done to me. Maybe it is conjured up by my own emotions, but the hysteria isn’t mine. For most people they need to see in order to believe. I think this holds true with emotional turmoil. No one can see it. They can only see you are alive, you look good. You may even smile. Putting on a show is what we have  become good at. Its those hands that hold me close that notice the difference and feel the pain because they dont need to see in order to believe. Somehow, when I cut myself it is my outlet or way of making what can't be seen real. Suddenly, in that moment the tears of blood I shed allow the emotions to be true.

I am a ghost. 

It isn’t my hand that guides the blade across my flesh. It is my mind and my will that fights these things as long as I possibly can. Then out of the blue I break into a thousand tiny pieces and all that fighting was for nothing. How do you give up without throwing in the towel? 

The hands that hold my heart tonight and tomorrow night will remain the same. They will continue to guide and protect me. They will continue to keep me safe. Though they have never touched me, or caressed my flesh, those hands know I am real, they know my feelings are real. Without touching me they allow me to flourish and grow within the safety of their embrace.

"If I could tell the world just one thing it would be that we're all OK
And not to worry cause worry is wasteful and useless in times like these
I won't be made useless
I won't be idle with despair
I will gather myself around my faith for light the darkness most fears

My hands are small I know but they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken" -Jewel, Hands