It's a slow learn I thought, but progress is picking up. I can see the net below me, and the cord on which I balance ahead. The cord is tiny but tot and unbreakable, drawn from ends that are being created just for me and stretching out as far as I can see which is always further. I remember the way the net felt, grew familiar with the fibers and loved it because it was what i had. I remember looking up to the rope so far away.. Too far to focus or imagine I could balance.
Lies are reliable. They cannot be singular. They will multiply, and on this you can depend. The lies made a net where I slept and saddened. They were my horizon, kept me company and occupied.
It is such a challenge to listen to this quiet voice in me that tells me how I feel. It's a noisy place inside my head because I can hear other peoples' voices there too. They tell me I am beautiful and what will make me happy. Sometimes some of them are right. I need to, want to, listen to myself. And I am making progress.
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