It’s hard to breathe.
Sometimes it all catches up with me.
I push so hard to turn all the loss into drive and today I failed.
The truth is sometimes I can’t because it hurts too much.
Sometimes I cry.
I cry for no obvious reason.
Even with pen and paper, I can’t tell you what it is like even when I am dying to get it out.
I am aware that my life depends on ridding myself of the baggage resulting from the trauma, and I have to face the pain head-on.
But sometimes I don’t want to.
I hate admitting that I still hurt, that I’ve been hurt and that healing hurts.
I suppose it is easy for some people to simply let shit go. For me, it’s a wild ride of hope and disappointment, and constant yearning to hold onto something or someone that once was.
I fear that I am falling apart.
It is not poetic or tragically beautiful like some might think it is.
It’s the kind of falling apart when you’re bent over and clutching your chest, trying to suck it in and not cry.
It’s the kind of falling apart like someone took a match to your skin and left you burning alive.
It makes me feel unlovable.
I am terrified that anyone I am worthy of will take my heart and tie it up with strings, doing whatever they please. They won’t care that it is attached to me and that I feel every push and pull.
I don’t have a trusting heart anymore but I do have courage.
None of this seems logical it feels shameful. It doesn’t make sense to me and I wish I could turn the switch off.
I have looked for meaning and reason.
I have put myself under a metaphorical microscope and dissected every inch of myself, looking for the cause, for the root of my pain.
I have ripped everything apart that has happened to me and pulled out every stitch trying to understand.
And once again I have come up empty-handed.
I guess sometimes we are simply meant to hurt and I find that the most heartbreaking thing of all.