Mess...

Sometimes you think you're doing something for the "right" reasons. Your actions speaking for you while inside you're thinking… "Am I crazy? What did I just do?" You look around and see what you've done. The wake in which you've caused and think "What a mess. How could I have messed it up so terribly?" The mess on the inside is worse. The mess on the inside is raw, wounded, throbbing in pain and completely disjointed. What once housed clarity is now a home for confusion and uncertainty. Picking up the pieces and trying to see where each fits is not as easy as it should be. You've done this to make things easier, didn't you? Why isn't it? There are things that remain constant, but where do they fit. Where is their place? You sift through muddle and see familiar things but how should they be glued back together? And the things that were causing you to tear down this house are still there. How do you work around that? Suddenly you know the reason why you're sitting here, sobbing and bleeding… breaking and crumbling. And it wasn't because you wanted to make a mess of what was there. It was because you were trying to clean up the mess that was *already* there. Maybe that doesn't make it easier, but at least you can go on cleaning things up with a different purpose. Has it changed since the start? Is it what you thought it was? Is it what you thought it would be? A mess doesn't have to be ugly and devestating although, seeing the forest for the trees, it might seem that way. In the end you'll come out a better person for it, for knowing what exactly you can handle, what exactly you want, what exactly you'll need and what you might risk to have it all. This pain and this anguish… it’s a beautiful mess.