Get off the Ride.

He ells me that I can tell him anything. He tells methat I can say and do anything and he will still feel the same way about me. He wants to be my safehouse. He wants me to see all of the things that I desire reflected in own self-image. He says I have them all.

And wouldn't that be perfect? Wouldn't that be absolutely astounding? For me to have someone to make sense of all that goes on inside of me all of the time? The pace and the rhythm and the force of my heart and mind and the relentless interaction between the two that continues on without my comprehension. To have someone that cares enough to let me speak of what's inside--regardless of their ideologies? To have someone that can provide me with the me that I have both procided and afforded everyone else for my entire life?

Get off the ride.

End it. End this facade of a life that exhausts me--not end my life, but end this menagerie of my life. Construct who I am, who I am when I stand alone, into something beautiful. Make a life of it. Get off the ride.

And maybe that's the answer. Get away from what is constantly frustrating me. What purpose does it serve? Doesn't everything serve a higher purpose? Shouldn't I also serve a higher purpose?

The answer is yes. My problem is no. If I affirm my life, my believs, my values, my priorities, my passions, my strengths and my weaknesses, then I am sure I will uncover the dusy me that I placed in a shoebox on the top shelf of a closet that has become my life.

And so get off the ride.

Leave it alone. Get away. Make it frustrated. Make it hurt. Make it cry. Let it deal with you instead of you endleslly dealing with it.

--

Arianne Moore