act one: the paper cut
Date: 11/22/2024, 10:39 PM
Trauma violently reshapes who you are without giving you a manual explaining how you’ve changed. You need to relearn who you are through vicious trial and error.
And just when you think you’ve finished writing out your own manual by hand, wrist ligaments cracking and knuckles weary and mind shredded from lesson after rib-bruising lesson, you get a paper cut. The pages saturate crimson. The ink bleeds.
And you have to start writing the manual all over again. Maybe in pencil this time.
act two: the manual
Date: 2/5/2020, 11:04 PM
I shouldn’t have to forgive myself for being in love. I didn’t get my firsts “out of the way”; and the majority of them happened because I wanted them to. I don’t understand why my initial response upon remembering the (mostly) good times with him is that I need to punish myself for doing human actions, that “I should have known better”.
How can I love myself fully if I refuse to accept that my past is valid? That I am a mere human living a microscopic existence on a dust mote in an ever-expanding cosmos? The stars have no idea I exist. And why should they?
Dear self, it is okay that you let someone into your life romantically. It’s awesome that you took that risk, even though its final stage turned sour. You are so loved. And you are so loving. Don’t be afraid of love — fear those who want to steal yours because they can’t provide enough for themselves.
act three: the pencil
answering that letter to self – 11/24/2024, 1:06 AM
Oh, honey, NEVER fear them.
Don’t even give them the time of day. If you devote your time to running from those with the intention to steal from you, they have already won. They enjoy the thrill of the hunt just as much as devouring the undeserved spoils. And you’re not really prey, anyway. Not with your herd.
You will assemble your herd, and they will strengthen you. And you will strengthen them! You are a valuable part of the ecosystem, regardless of how you feel or what you believe to the contrary; regardless of what mistakes you’ve made.
Being naive, being trusting — these are traits you can cherish. They are proof that you have been loved. That you believe in good.
However, I must point out, it wasn’t just the final stage that was sour. By that point, you had just dissolved the candy coating surrounding the Lemonhead.
“I am a mere human,” you wrote. Even in this, you were blaming yourself. Belittling yourself. You can’t claim to have made the greater mistakes when the other party delighted in hurting and embarrassing you.
Yes, your past is valid, and it wouldn’t have gone any other way. Your given circumstances concocted the perfect storm: internalizing sermons one day, a particular craving for sour candy on another. This could’ve happened to anyone, and the script for it found its way into your hands, lead’s lines pre-highlighted. Just as much of an accident as conception.
And what makes you think the stars don’t know who you are? You are of the stars. The very carbon in your bones will one day spark a galaxy eons from now.
If anything, my dear, it’s you who doesn’t know the stars.
Remember: you are an artist, an alchemist. You get to add your own unique enrichment to the flavor of the melting pot.
And yes, while the pain of self-flagellation can make you feel alive, it is not a substitute for growth — it is a toxic fertilizer, an oxymoron. It’s time to properly forgive yourself and stop excusing him.
Even if you did know better, he did too.