Sometimes I feel like there are little people living inside of me.  LIke little elves or something.  Living in my brain.  In my gut.  In my joints.  In my eyes.  On my head.  In my skin.  In my fat.  In my muscles.  In my bones.  In my organs.  Trying to get to my heart…

I feel like they make decisions for me sometimes…or I make decisions for them sometimes.  Sometimes–but very rarely–they have voices.  Haha, it’s kind of like that Simpsons episode when Lisa’s science fair project turns into her accidental creation of a new Universe of tiny little people.

Maybe that is what is going on in me.  Maybe it goes on in all of us. But I can’t speak for anyone but myself.

You know, when I first learned about cells and what they were and how they comprised our whole physical being.  I thought they must think for themselves, right?  Like how could little entities NOT do that?  Maybe that is the little people living inside of me.

But I don’t like making decisions for them.  I don’t feel like they live in my heart.  I feel like I live in my heart–my SOUL lives there.  (don’t know where everyone else’s live.  don’t really care.  I think each of us can decided and just FEELS where our soul lives.)  And I just CAN’T let these little people into that fortress.  It is my space.  I live freely there.  It is not crowded.  I don’t have to care about anyone but me.  I don’t have to hear anyone but me.  No decisions except MY decisions.  I can breathe there…

*I don’t like people touching me.  But I do like to touch other people.*

So, right now–today–I feel like there are a lot of little people doing a lot of busy work and being very noisy inside of me.  They are being really loud and not allowing me to hear mySELF.  I want to tell them to shut up and to stop.  But, I don’t dislike them.  I like them.  I like the work they do.  They help me & keep me company a lot.  But, they can be so rude and disrespectful.

But I don’t want to ruffle any feathers or rock the boat or disturb the peace or make anyone upset.  I’ll just deal.  Endure.  It ain’t that bad.  I’ll get by.

It’s just annoying.

How can the inside of me be annoying?  How can crazy made-up metaphors of how I deal/cope/get by be annoying?

Why can’t I just be normal…even though I don’t want to be…?…


About heathencomehome

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