I’m not asking for a sisterhood of broken souls. A brotherhood of protectors.
I am not asking for permission to fly, permission to grieve, permission to be.I am not asking for someone to tell me how to heal. I am not asking for someone to kick me out of the shadows and into the sun. I can do all of these things on my own. I am doing all of these things on my own.
I use this space as a place to breathe. These words, these things, this jumbled mess of letters tangle themselves around my pen in a way they can never fall off my tongue.I can imagine how it looks, to come here and hear me talk about something that happened 17 years ago. I look through my archives, little blood-red butterflies dancing down the sides of pages where I bleed. And I think. I think I must come across as some sad, wallowing thing. But, here is the truth.
I am getting it done.
I have danced, less than gracefully, granted. I have danced through 9 years of a relationship with a man I love. I use my words. I get myself up and I give a million pieces of myself to help people recover from injury, to manage chronic pain, to make their lives a little better every day. I work until the tips of my fingers are numb. I plod through the tattered old house of my mind, rearranging throw pillows, scrubbing floors. I make decent, the dust of this structure, because it has good bones.
Yes, there are days where I get overwhelmed. Yes, I have nightmares, yes I wear a fat suit. Yes, sometimes my heart is dark. But, I am getting it done.
So there are those that want to tell me that it’s been a long time and that I can’t afford to look back. There are those who want to tell me that I have only had this one thing happen in my life and I am lucky. Just get over it already. While I have found and given support in this space, I won’t be told how to heal. I won’t be given a timeline based on a judgment purely on the words I put here. I have given a very slanted window into my life, I realize. With that comes a certain expectation of familiarity, but I promise this:
I am not here for anyone but me.
This page, with my little butterflies and my black background, which I have been told sucks…and I don’t give a shit, really because I like it, is mine.
This struggle, whether it takes me 17 years or 75 years to process and to get over, is mine.
Every time I talk about it, it’s not to throw another black raincloud into the atmosphere. It is to gain another piece of myself. Not for the world. Not for the blog stats. Not for the comments. For me.
The one person who would be qualified to give me a timeline, the one person who knows every small, large and gargantuan tragedy that has fractured me has given me no timeline to get over it. This is not my only pain and there is no competition for who carries the biggest wounds. I am not here to pick at anyone’s scabs and I am sure as hell not inviting anyone to pick at mine.
I don’t need to be challenged in this process. I fight demons that I don’t wish on anyone. I fight myself. I have enough challenges without fighting off more swords aimed in my direction. So, on posts where I am talking about this recovery process, if you find yourself with itchy comment finger and you’re getting ready to tell me (albeit in a backhanded, “kind” way) that I haven’t suffered like you have, or it’s one thing that happened a long time ago, or that my pain is minimal in comparison to yours, or your aunt sally’s or that at least I have food and shelter, just don’t.
Because I expect support here. I expect it just as readily as I give it. I expect that we all act like adults here. I don’t want a pissing contest over whose pain is bigger, who’s dealt with more bullshit. I am asking this because I have the right to expect this from people who purport to care for me. I have the right to ask for this, because I give these things without being asked. I also have the right because while I am here for me, there are others who may trip by.
There may be a young girl who was just like me, barely keeping her pieces together. She may wake up after her last colorful nightmare and try to find some place where someone has been through, what she’s been through. What I want her to find is the strength not just from me, but the strength of the words of a community of people.
A community of people who have given me strength. Because while I am here for me, there is no reason why we can’t be here for her.
She has the right to her pain. She has the right to her healing. So do you. So do I. I have this place as my lighthouse and it will always guide me to shore and to remind me, I have the right to exist.