I should have a picture under the dictionary definition of the word “hermit” because I truly embody the very essence of one. Lately I have even been leaning much more into it. It feels like a pull, not a negative pull into a chasm that is inescapable, but a pull toward a gentle seclusion that tends to me quietly, gracefully. Social media is a foreign concept to me now, although I know I, as a human, need the connections and interaction. Now is just not the time. Now is a time to assimilate life lessons, to parse through the dense memory of my past with a fine tooth comb and articulate to myself certain realizations, certain wisdom that has been otherwise overlooked. Much of it stings at first, my heart swelling with emotion that transcends time and space. Memories begin to flow without me even trying. They are shown to me as if just yesterday these events happened, which makes it all the more better to see through a new perspective. Fall and winter are naturally the times of year this process tends to happen. The leaves change color and begin to fall away. So too does my mind work to change my inner world, shedding memories like autumn leaves. I pick them up and rotate them by the stem, turning them fast between my thumb and forefinger. I suddenly embody the little girl within these memories, seeing through her eyes and through omnipotent ones simultaneously. I see the transgressions made by adults and send myself intense thoughts of love and support knowing she feels it in her time, although she does not know how or why. Healing takes an immense mental and emotional toll that many can only take so much of. Diving in again and again takes strength and courage that transforms you into a much wiser being. I myself am a hypocrite if I never acknowledge my ego that continues to battle with me for control over my memories and current reality. My ego hates being told what to do, hates wasting time on things she deems unworthy. She uses intense language to describe the emotional pain she feels doing normal everyday things. All she wants is to be left alone, with all the time in the world to think, dream, feel, breathe, and do. Writing comes naturally to her, a small reprieve that allows her thoughts a physical form, otherwise she writhes and trembles with all the intensity of a raging storm in the middle of the ocean ready to capsize the ship carrying her heart and mind as its crew. I write and I mediate everyday, yet my rage flows steadily at regular intervals in response to triggers that my ego refuses to compromise with. I am aware of reality, I am aware of certain things that must be done, but the rage refuses to withdraw. I self destruct, have so many times before and continue to. I am not proud of it, but at least it makes me human. I cannot be sage all the time despite wanting to be. I cannot be positive in every moment. I must go through the rollercoaster of human emotion and learn to accept them all as they are. There is a great deal of work ahead of me to be faced through my fear and mental and emotional torment. I give myself no choice in this matter. No matter what it takes I will get better, be better, and do better.