As I’m screaming into my pillow emotionally crawling through the barbed wire, I’m collecting wounds that will later be filled with knowledge. My path is mine alone and in it is where I was trapped, where I felt my desire for life begin to succumb to my circumstance– and through it is where I realized the strength to persevere came from within me. I fought the change, only to injure myself further as my skin got wrapped in the thorns, forcing me to rip my skin as I broke free– I left my flesh behind and pushed forward, I wouldn’t quit, I would keep going. And then, at last, the exit– where I found myself, the new version– scathed and flaunting my lacerations where self hate once lived. But here I am, standing tall looking beaten, but feeling resuscitated.
We crawl through these mind breaking tunnels all throughout our life, they can’t be avoided or escaped. We are not designed to be perfect, so why do we shun the imperfect? Those living damaged are just souls that got trapped in their journey tunnel allowing the judgements of others to convince them they were wrong to be themselves, or that their pain was self motivated. I wait for the day that we can love each other through all the chapters of our existence, not just the ones we enjoy the most. A day where we see those hurting, and we stand by as supporters not shamers, and applaud their strength as they fight through–clapping as spectators standing at the finish line.
I don’t want to stay broken. I just want it to be okay to be broken, fall apart and, find my way back up to a stronger wiser self. This idea that I should just be good and happy and well-behaved all the time is a faulty reality for me. Can we break the stigma of “mental issues” and look at a person falling apart as a beautiful transition phase that hopefully they emerge from reinvented? Why is “being a mess” a bad thing? What lesson was ever learned from being perfect?
I tell myself, “being broken can be beautiful if you allow it, if you drown everyone else out and let yourself hurt, or even let part of yourself die–just like you prune the orchards, you must remove the parts of yourself that get in the way”. If you love me, hold my hair back as I purge the poison of my mistakes, sit by my bed as I recover from this hangover. Keep your mouth closed and your ears open. See me with your mind and not your eyes. Journey with me through my inevitable failures. Adore me from the inside-out.
I stop screaming. I flip over to my back and feel my tears fall down my cheek– I wipe them and notice the black smears of my mascara, I smile. I am not ashamed of my pain, I am not hiding my sadness. This is me. It is okay to cry until I’m heaving. It is okay to close the door for 48 hours as I voyage through my consciousness. This is a road block where I must build a path. I stay calm. This is new to me, I’m amazed as I watch myself stand still through the storm where I use to struggle and drown. I trust myself. I know what I need and I feed my soul.
Today the rain is falling–it hurts but it’s inspiring. Because tomorrow, tomorrow the sun will shine once more and I will welcome the rays on my face–thankful for the opportunity of one more morning. Life is short and I remind myself of this. Grateful for my past hours of reflection allowing for the gratitude to seep through, remembering how I once rejected this beauty.
“If you’re waiting for the right space, the right time–wait no longer. Simply begin. Step outside the parameters that the brain instills and allow your body to create the space it needs”