I wrote this last month, but was unable to post it until now.
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I still can’t look at her message to me without a knot forming in my throat.
The words are simple, and I know that she didn’t know what she’d unleash in me by sharing them.
How are you, beautiful one?
Those last two words; they are the ones I choked hard on.
And the tears began to fall.
And I knew that I didn’t have the words to reply.
I could have just gone with the easy answer of ‘I’m fine’…but she’s the kind of person who deserves the truth and I’d honor her with it….if it didn’t hurt so bad.
So its been months and I’ve not written her back.
Because I just don’t know what to say.
I can’t put this pain into words.
Because if there is something that I believe far less than anything else its that I’m beautiful…in any shape or form.
I’ve no idea where this started or where the lies began to creep in but I’ve believed them for as long as I can remember. They go deep. They haunt me.
Today I read a post by my friend who is a nurse. He encountered a patient who was struggling with many things, but one of them was cutting. He took her to look at her scars in the mirror because he wanted her to see she was more than her scars. At first she wept for the pain, but then as he began to get her to see aspects of her that she loved she began to see past her scars. It was a moment of redemption…and I wept as I read his words.
Because some days the invisible scars loom so large that I’m unable to see what I love about myself, and be thankful for how God has created me. I know that hating myself is to throw God’s creation back in his face, but that doesn’t stop me from doing it.
There have been days I wish I was brave enough to cut.
People who aren’t desperate for a release from the pain don’t understand that. Don’t understand how that could be considered bravery.
And perhaps its not. But it gives a release. And somedays I wish that I could just let all this hatred and pain run out of me in liquid form.
Don’t worry. I won’t start now. I’ve lived this long with the pain, and I’ll continue to. But there are days when a story shared seeps so deep into my heart…that I physically ache. And there are days, when a simple greeting leaves me breathless because I can’t acknowledge the possibility of truth.
That is where I’m at these days. Unable to grasp the truth.