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By Sam Maracic

I used to believe my insides were built too big. That beneath my small frame of humanity lied a depth too tremendous in size, too weighted with intensity.

I felt too much. I was too much to love. I was on overload, my nerves maxed out with fear because there was too much in me for one body to hold. Surely not everyone is like this. Surely I am the only one. Nobody talks about feeling too much for their lives; too big for their bodies. I thought it was me.

So I used to believe I needed to change this. I needed to shrink that which made me so expansive. Dial it down. Rein it in. Dilute. Replace what was with only what should be.

This looked like suppressing how I felt. How hungry I was. What I did, how I reacted, what I thought, what I said, who I loved. Everything was calculated and decided upon. I was a caricature of a person I never even wanted to be. A character I was writing in my own mind. I therapied and apologized. Self-hated and subdued. Ran and cried and pushed it below.

Pushing, until it bubbled.

Flowing over the rims of my cage, taking up residence where it was always meant to lie. Tired and exhausted. I let my truth envelop me. I fell beneath its surface, immersed in all of the bigness I was not meant to be. My thoughts. My emotions. My fears. My self.

I did what I was afraid to do. I thought I was breaking, giving up, letting myself go under.

But I did not drown. I did not gasp, or fumble or hurt.

I breathed. Deeply.

I was free.


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