The Wounds That Don't Heal

Watched a movie on Monday night that unexpectedly ended in suicide.
Totally knocked the wind out of me.


But it helped me process some mah-jor daddy's death issues.

And I wrote what's below---through torrential tears.
For the first time in a loooong time I wrote-wrote. And I healed. 


Sharing is caring and I hope it helps give you some perspective in dark moments.

Big kiss!

***

It's been a long time since I peered into the darkness.


Whenever I teeter on the brink, there's a voice inside me that whispers
No good can come from poking and prodding all that brokeness, all that ugliness. Go on pretending. Go on saying and doing what you're supposed to do. It's easier.

And so I try to drown out the shadows---with pretty things and alcohol and distractions and daily life.

I try to tell myself: it was so long ago. That he broke your heart, that he broke your world, that he left and left you behind in pieces.

And yet, there it remains. A big festering black hole. Of pain and regret and questions with no answers. Right at the center of who I am.

Whether I acknowledge it or not. It's there. I think it always will be.
Because the soul is not like the body.
Not every wound heals.
Wounds don’t always become scars.

Sometimes the pain we endure is so immense that it remains---a big festering wound. Always threatening to bleed into the present.

But then along comes a night where everything feels so still and safe.
When my mind feels quiet and ready.

And I feel brave enough and strong enough to plunge into the pain. To look at the wounds and scars and bloody mess inside. To approach it. To create something healing.  To try to at least.


And suddenly I realize that I have to stop. Stop trying to prove I’m worthy, that I’m enough, that it wasn’t my fault. That I didn’t deserve to be abandoned, rejected, broken.

And in an instant, I come to terms with the fact that this pain will always be there.
No matter how much success I accomplish
no matter how much love and support surrounds me
no matter how many jokes I tell or people I help
no matter how pretty I look and perfect my life appears.

It will never change what happened.
It will never erase the pain---mine or his.
I will never be able to fix him, what he did, and how it affected me.

But with this knowledge and perspective, I can move forward.
I can put one foot in front of the other.

I will never escape what happened.
It is part of my past, my story, part of my soul.
But it doesn’t define my future.
I can and I will move forward.