Do you have memories that you try to look back on with happiness, but that still hurt? The ones that seem like lifetimes ago, but that ache like they were just yesterday. The ones that elicit a familiar type of pain that seems almost like a bruise. The ones you forget about for a bit, but once you notice them again you have to press down and see how bad it still hurts. No matter how hard you try you’re engulfed just like that, like the beginning, all over again.
I’m honestly not sure how many times I’ve told people “I’m fine” the past few months. Sometimes it’s easier than explaining the whole truth and reliving the past for what feels like another eternity. Maybe if I keep pushing it aside, one day I really will be fine. Maybe one day the hurt won’t sting as bad. Maybe one day I will look back and be able to separate the memories I cherish from the anguish I feel. I want to say that I’m proud of how far I’ve come so far, but I still feel like I have to brace myself for the miles upon miles left ahead.
I so badly want to retake control from whatever is keeping hold in my head, but I’m so used to the feeling that I don’t remember what it was like before. I don’t remember anything before the second-guessing or the constant white lies. I’ve become used to this way of feeling. It’s normal. It’s familiar. It’s routine. It’s almost as if I’m so used to this restraint that I constantly exercise that I don’t know how to stop anymore. Or maybe I do know how to stop, but I’m too afraid to jump into the void. Too scared of what could be lying ahead. I’m so used to this broken normal that the light at the end of the tunnel may be just around the corner, but I’ve been down this road for so long already that I just want to turn back thinking that it isn’t there at all.
I kind of feel like the water in the glass after you finish water coloring. Each paintbrush stroke enacted with the intention that leaves the paper a beautiful work of art but leaves the water a dark and unremarkable black. Every drop of paint that touched that piece of paper also in some way touched the water but look at the discrepancy. I hold on to every memory like every drop of paint hoping for a different ending every time I take a step back into my mind. Hoping that with each dip of the brush I will somehow not become that dull and uninspiring black. Wondering how I turn out like this knowing what the paper will look like in the end. How am I supposed to go from being the water in the glass to the shiny piece of art? How do I learn to start letting go?
I’ve spent so long putting walls up that when it finally comes time to tear them down I don’t know how to. I don’t know how to let others in. I don’t know how to share these memories with them. I don’t know how to explain it. I’m so afraid at the idea of opening up my heart to more potential pain that I don’t want to open up at all. Part of me wants to stay guarded. Part of me wants to stay closed off. Part of me doesn’t ever want to let go.
I know that this journey takes time. I know it takes patience. I know that it won’t be like day and night. That even years down the road there will be times where I look back and only see the hurt. I can only learn to let go of what I can’t control. I can learn to love the person who I have become and not who I want to be. Every single thing that’s happened, every memory that’s ever hurt has molded me regardless of if I wanted it to. That’s not something to be ashamed of or something I need to hide. Not all scars are visible. Sometimes the ones that hurt the most are the ones you can’t see. My pain reminds me that I’m strong and that I can overcome, even if it takes a while.
There are very few people who know the full story. There are very few people who fully understand the pain I feel. I might still be in the beginning stages of learning to let go, but what I have learned is that I don’t need to apologize. I do not need to apologize for being guarded. I do not have to explain why I do or do not share the memories that have shaped me. I do not have to apologize for being me.
You know those stories your parents tell you from when they were younger? The ones that they can never get through fully without breaking into incessant laughter. The ones you can tell are full of pure and total elation. Those are the memories that I want to start to build. Those are the memories that I want to cherish. Those are the ones I want to remember. While a part of me knows that the painful memories will never totally disappear, I find peace in knowing that I can make new memories with people who I love. People who accept me for who I am. People who support me and push me to be better every day. People who will stand up next to me on good days and hold me up on bad ones. People who I can smile and laugh with until my stomach hurts. The people who I have learned to never let go of.