(Photo done by LG)
I’m not a whole person, and I don’t think I ever will be. Parts of me died in the house I grew up in. Parts of me died as I aged and life experiences wacked me in the face. Parts of me died as people continued to walk out of my life.
I visit these parts of me in my dreams, where I am whole again. Where I don’t stand out from people because of what I’ve been through, because in my dreams, I haven’t been through it. In my dreams, those people have not left. In my dreams, I see them, and we are happy, and we are laughing. In my dreams, everything is okay.
And then the morning comes, and I wake up to who I really am, with all of the broken, dead parts of me, still attached. Because even though they have died, they are still apart of me. And as pieces continue to chip away, they still fall behind like chains attached to me. They are still parts of me, even though they are no longer alive.
My first instinct is to feel ashamed. Of me. Of the skin that I breathe in, for everything I have been through and everyone who has ever graced it. I feel ashamed of myself because at times all I feel like I am is damaged goods, dragging along an endless and growing chain of dead pieces of myself. That this chain will just continue to grow until all that I am is a chain. All that I am is dead pieces.
Something happens though. It is small, and it is not fast. The whole in which a dead piece of yourself once was starts to rebuild. It is painful. It is hopeful. It is scary. There is laughter, and pain, and scar tissue. There are many tears.
Our scars make us who we are. Sometimes, we are ashamed of them. Sometimes, we are afraid. Sometimes, yes, we drag along the empty, fragile, dead, pieces of us. We all have them. Some, more than others. Some ignore them, while some, open heartedly accept them.
There is no reason to be ashamed of the chains you drag behind you, because it makes you who you are, in a sense. Without them, you wouldn’t be where you are today. And maybe you don’t exactly know where that is, yet. And that’s okay too. You don’t have to. You can cry, or scream. Or laugh. Or drive. But never feel ashamed for who you are.
I don’t think I will ever be whole again. I don’t believe in any knight in shining armor to come sweep me off my feet and save me. I’m the hero of my own story. I save myself. But still, I don’t think these pieces will ever be filled in completely.
And that’s okay.
That makes for some grand stories to tell.
Until next time,
National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255
Eating Disorder Hotline: 1-800-931-2237
Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-SAFE
Child Abuse Hotline: 1-800-4-A-CHILD
Self-Injury Hotline: 1-800-DONT-CUT
For more hotlines that you or a loved one may need, visit http://www.pleaselive.org/hotlines/
Stay alive. 💙