I used to pity you, and all that you had gone through. Every action that had led to the scars on your heart, all the wrong you did not deserve. That is until I discovered the vengeance you seek in those you find unworthy. What defines worth, my dear? To you, the expectations on value and respect are never held to your own doing. So what defines worth? Innocent souls trip on mistakes in your path and you condemn them for life. What defines worth? You do realize that this pattern of defining another’s worth, to you, is a viscous cycle of revenge, right?
You will never find happiness and peace while battling a non-existent war. Look around, my dear, for you have wounded those around you who have had nothing but love for you. Hearts that have been misplaced due to your lack of empathy and self serving actions. I hope you finally get what you are looking for, however, I really hope you get what you deserve.
I still can’t believe the levels of absolute sorrow you built for me, slowly pushing me into insanity. You absolutely crushed me, destroyed every broken piece of me until you were satisfied enough to walk away. I was too soft between your rough fingers, begging you to hold me gentle, you ignored all of my pleads. I begged and groveled at your feet for forgiveness for mistakes that I now realize I was never at fault for. All I desired was acceptance but you made sure to give me nothing but denial.
I’m learning the true meaning of vulnerability. I am learning what it means to be open, fully and completely naked in my emotions no matter the consequences. I tend to close myself off after being hurt, or after learning that I can’t trust someone. And while that might be healthy in some ways, I am learning that it is okay to express you are hurt. For a full year I slowly became desensitized, incapable of feeling anything. I felt I never had a place to be open with you, and I really didn’t. Today I want you to know that the way I allowed myself to hurt in your presence was unacceptable. I will never allow self inflicted torture by “staying” ever again. Never again.
I was always intrigued by the mere thought of you. Walking within the thick of a crowd, the long anticipated moment would finally arrive as your arms embraced me. I gleamed as if I were a child meeting their hero, nothing but admiration in my eyes and hoping to spend whatever time I had occupying your presence. A nervous-wreck, it took everything for me to balance the excitement that was slipping from the words I somehow managed to string into sentences. Those moments are lost now.
You wake up one morning and you’re 6 years old again. Confused and shocked you begin to experience the world, but this time the world gives you the support you always wanted. Your mother is sitting with you at a small table in the playroom, teaching you how to draw clouds with crayons. Or perhaps your father is helping you up after falling off of a bike, slowly easing you back on to teach you to balance. You get the love that you had always desired but had never received. But at what cost?
What motivates us is failure, whether it’s our fault or not. What gives us true appreciation for happiness, is those moments of having to swallow sadness. Living in a perfect world would not generate perfect people. Living in a perfect world would desensitize your desire to be a better person. It’s time to take your emotional and physical deficits and realize, that you are not defined by that which you don’t have. Rather, you will find self-worth in the growth you experience while working to close those voids.
It wasn’t until I could see the moon rise that I decided to make my way outside to the wooden swing that gently swayed in the wind. After navigating through the dark, I sat down and felt the soft breeze that leaked through the forest behind me gently touch the parts of me that were uncovered. I tried everything I could to organize my thoughts, slow my breathing, and find some sort of peace in the chaos that wrecked my mind. Unfortunately, this type of madness stems from the depths of wounds even I wasn’t aware existed.
I stared into a blank piece of lined paper for possibly an hour, following the margins and tracing the outside edges of the page with my pen. It was unlike me to draw a blank and yet here I was, emptier than I could ever imagine. What could I possibly write? How could I possibly articulate a feeling of nothing.
Impending emotions grow heavy on my chest as mental turns to physical and I am no longer capable of repressing. Not even the sound of my dog’s steady breathing soothes me as I continue to act as though I’m capable of refusing reality. In times like these I would desperately reach out, a phone call away, you’d promise me comfort and soon after I would drift to sleep.
Instead, I find myself in a constant state of self doubt. What was real? What was fake? Who was I to you and who did I become? Never have I ever found myself habitually questioning my own being. Never have I questioned my own words. But I understand now, I understand that sometimes after all is said and done, words turn into nothing.