Tag Archives: healing

Letter To My Heart

27 Jul

My dear Heart,

I never thought I would ever consider writing you a letter, but somehow—and for many obvious reasons—here I am doing just that. The need to write to you is intense and overwhelming, so I can’t ignore it.

Like with the letter to Pain and Loneliness, I feel the need to acknowledge you in ways I never done before and tell you a few things . . . This one thought keeps circling . . .  not sure what I will accomplish with writing to you, but like so many things happening lately, not much makes sense these days so here we go:

I have this knot in my throat writing these words because . . . because the truth of the matter is . . . I’ve never taken good care of you. I’ve destroyed you too many times to count. I’ve taken you for granted. I’ve thrown you to the jackals and watched them rip you apart. Thrown you in the whirlwind of love, never once wondering if you can take it; never asking if you want it. If you could handle it. I’ve bruised you, let others wreck you over and over again . . . not giving you much time to breathe in between blows. Never letting you fully recover. Time and time again.

The smarter people say recovering from loss takes somewhere between 12 months to 24 months. Looking back at our history—I never mourned enough any of the losses you and I went through. I never let you fully heal. Acknowledge the loss, deal with it, say goodbye to it. Instead I found a new love—or a new love found me. The highs of that blanketed over your broken pieces, gave me new purpose, new strength and diverted my focus from what I should’ve paid attention to most: you. Feel your pain. Wipe your tears. Bandage your bleeding wounds. Put your pieces back together. Help you recover. Help you become whole again.

I guess . . . I’m a terrible home for your precious being. I treated you badly, as badly as those who shattered you over and over again. No wonder you hurt so much now and scream, ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!!! I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!!

As much as I let you down, I want you to know that I never intended to hurt you. I never intended to break you and let you become of stone. I never intended to make you pay for my mistakes.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I broke you and let others do the same.

I’m sorry I took you for granted.

I’m sorry I mistreated you.

I’m sorry.

I was hoping . . . could you ever forgive me?

 

A delusion called Friendship

1 Oct

Do you ever wonder why—during times of crisis—you react the way you react? Do you ever think that, if faced with some sort of one of those life-altering moments, you know yourself so well that your reaction won’t shock you? Like for instance, a friend tells you they decide to tattoo their forehead / hike Everest / go on Naked & Afraid Show / rob a bank, and when they tell you that, you know exactly how you’ll react to it, but in reality your reaction is quite the opposite, shocking you and your friend, to a point it alters your relationship with him/her. Shock that would make you pause for a surgical, introspective look, not only at yourself, but also at your relationship with that friend. And the deeper you look, the less you like what you see to a point you question not only how well you know yourself but also how well you know (or you thought you know) that friend.

Friends.

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We all have them and we all have heard at least once in our life the saying “you cannot pick your family, but you can (and you should) pick you friends.” We all build relationships based on likes and dislikes, common ground/morals, values, etc., and develop a support system so when we or them—our friends—fall apart, someone is there to catch us/them. We count on each other during good times and bad times, help each other pass whatever obstacle is thrown at us and eventually watch each other waltz through life.

Some friendships are meant to last a lifetime (they’ll be there to call you on your mistakes but still love you). Some are based on certain commonalities but have limitations (you might agree on politics but disagree on religion). And some friendships are there only when its convenient, through their good times and bad times, but fall apart at your first news of “I’m gonna tattoo my forehead/ hike Everest / go on Naked & Afraid Show / rob a bank.”

This past week my world titled, knocking the air from underneath my wings. For two days I dragged my broken wing trying to “float”, doing that surgical and introspective look at myself. I didn’t like what I saw, so I did what I knew best and reached out to my friends, baring my soul and letting them see my bleeding heart in its full tarnished splendor. Some of them gave me a piece of their mind, knocking me over the head, but also telling me—even though I’m stupid—they still love me. Some hugged me and told me they are sorry. And some got up and left the room.

images-1I stared at that door for a while . . .

I know it’s going to take me a while to process what happened, what triggered that to happen and that eventually my problem will have a solution and one way or another, I’ll be okay. I always am, always have, always will. I’m a fighter who, even after finding that I don’t always like the person gawking back at me in that mirror, I take responsibility for my mistakes and try to repair the wrong I’ve done. I always come back up for air, take baby steps toward recovery and eventually I will heal. But I also know that the door you closed behind will forever remain closed so. . . thank you for walking out like that, sparring me a delusion called friendship.