Looking Glass

Hello, friend.

We are just newly acquainted and yet I feel the need to open up to you and let you see the broken pieces that make up my constitution. I hope you do not mind if I share with you the stories of my past, for they are tattooed on my heart and slip out in my breath without my knowing.

We have all heard the lost loved stories. We read them in books, watch them blossom on the screens in theaters, and, sometimes, we live them. My friends, I am here to tell you one of these stories. It is not about the love of me and any handsome beau of the past, but between me and myself.

Like the rest of the world, once upon a time I was in love. It is true and undeniable that I did give my heart to keep safe to another. When the sparkles began to dull a darker side emerged that tore through me and my soul’s core. There were days when I could not get off of the couch. He siphoned off my friends and contacts making me know that I was excruciatingly alone. The emotional abuse was far too great. The ringing of the stinging words you will never find anyone to love you and you should be thankful that I am with you rotted my heart. I was wilting. I was nothing.

Tragedy struck one random evening, I found that my entire world was sent into a precipice of heartache, pain, and suffering. I had lost what I thought was my future, my only hope, the one that convinced me that they were the only one that would ever love me. Pie crust promises crumbled in my fists as I clutched for something to hold on to while I fell.

I tumbled and crashed upon the rocky shores of heartache until I was weathered and smooth as a stone.

And unfeeling as one as well.

Nights were spent torturing myself over the what-ifs and if-onlys, days were spent punishing myself with grueling 8 mile runs, studying, and working. I was pushing myself. I was pushing the bad feelings out. I was pushing the fear. I was pushing myself away.  Not once did I rest. Not once did I give myself kind words. Not once did I allow myself to heal. I spent months being raw.

I tell you, friend that I have not felt alright in a good amount of time. Recently, I have recognized the error of my ways. I had convinced myself that I fell from grace. Grace in my mother’s eyes. Grace in God’s eyes. But, the only one that I hurt and betrayed was me. The only one that stopped loving me because of my past was me. The only one who blamed me for the vices was me. Me. 

I had not realized that the love that I so craved, the feelings of belonging, the warmth and comfort of tenderness were not lacking because I was no longer in love with a man, but that I was no longer, or possibly never, in love with myself. I had not realized that I was deserving of love. I had not realized that I was able to love myself.

The journey of this whole macabre story has changed from one that is painful, burning, and crashing to one that is alight with hope, with love, and with compassion. Is it over? No, no friend. It is merely the beginning.

I have just begun my healing.

I have just begun to be able to look myself in the mirror and see something of worth, something of value, both of which have been missing for quite sometime. My looking glass was always smeared with hurtful words, blurring the person crying out on the other side.

Now, I see myself.

Nothing is more beautiful than that.


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