You know when you wake up and all your friends live somewhere else and you realize that you’re all alone because you’ve said no to every boy you can remember, except for the ones who said no to you, and you find yourself wondering if maybe you should’ve been more? More something, sometime… to someone, or someone’s? You can’t really pinpoint where you went wrong, or how many bad turns you’ve made since then. You always thought you’d make it out anyways, because all roads end up at the same place, don’t they? Or maybe they just intersect.
You operated out of your trauma and your unconscious fears for so long, until you became conscious of them. And now you’re afraid, all the time, of so many things, but what people don’t know about you is that, just because you’re terrified, just because you’re a scared, trembling, little girl doesn’t mean that you’re going to be this way forever. It doesn’t mean you’re not going to fight and change, it just means that you never knew you’d have to fight this hard, for this long.
So you write to make sense of things, and you write to communicate and you write to see your own soul, just in case no one else ever does.
And you think of all the lives that have been lost without anything to show for themselves, and you beg and you pray that you won’t be one of them, but you have this sneaking suspicion that you might already be one. You shiver at your own thoughts of mortality and you war with fate, if that’s even a thing, and you wonder where all your dreams have run off to.
You try to remember the times when your neck was stronger and your back wasn’t breaking under the weight of your own uncertainty, and more than anything you wonder if it will be like this forever.
You think, if only I hadn’t… then I might… but it isn’t true; because you did! here you are! And you wouldn’t be where you are without where you’ve been, just like you can’t be who you want without first living who you must be. And so you fight— mostly with yourself. You used to be oblivious, until you decided to try to understand, and then as the doors opened and the pages of your story wrote themselves before you, you realized all the reasons you are here now, and all the things that have made you this way.
And sometimes you hate it, sometimes you hate yourself for who you’ve been without thinking. Without a thought for the future you’ve thrown away so much that could have been. But dear one, even though your life has been long and you are tired, you are not finished yet. I won’t tell you the war is over, because you’ll be fighting battles for the rest of your days, but it will teach you to be strong. And you are strong, even when you don’t believe it, you are fierce, and sensitive, and there is so much more to strength than fighting.
You must learn to be vulnerable, to let your insides out sometimes. It won’t always feel natural and you will absolutely make mistakes, but that only makes your strength more beautiful and more enduring. You are imperfect, and more than that, you are allowed to be. You can be messy, you can be unsure- it won’t make you less.
You don’t always have to understand, and sometimes your mistakes will scare people and you will blame it on your vulnerability, and you will think that you are too much, or too ugly, or too messed up. But please, please Love, push those thoughts away with everything in you, because they aren’t true, and you are allowed to be wholly you, and if that is too much then maybe you just weren’t meant to be loved by that person.
There is sincerity in your hard edges. Don’t soften yourself for others, learn to love your roughness as well as your sensitivity, because the blind intelligence, the useless facts, and the monosyllabic responses are you just as much as the convulsive sobs, the hysterical laughs, and the spontaneous explorations, and everything in between and around. You can have a soft heart and a sharp mind, you’re not a contradiction.
You may not be able to be everywhere at once, but you are everything at once, and that is something that is lovable, not detestable. If you want to be seen as a whole picture, you must learn to see yourself first.
Everything doesn’t always need to be analyzed or put through rigorous testing for validity and origins. Sometimes you will need to just be. To exist and not question it so much. Eventually you will find joy again, and one day you will know that you are loved, and after that, it will come easier and easier every day. And you’ll look back and you’ll know that all the pain had it’s place, and that love is synonymous with long-suffering, but it’s also so much more than that, little girl, just as you are so much more than the sum of your suffering.