It was different, but not better.
It wasn't that I thought I never deserved happiness anymore
It wasn't that I thought I no longer deserved happiness now
It was more like I wondered if I was just too broken presently
To even comprehend what real happiness could look like...
Like going so long without food, The body rejects it.
Or like when an animal is wounded and feral
And more at risk of hurting someone who reaches out:
Even if that someone only want to save it.
Like no matter how gentle or slow.
I could only see the risk in being present in the situation.
I didn't fully trust anyone's intentions.
I sometimes wasn't even sure I trusted myself.
Some days I would be fine.
Brave even.
Almost alive, even...
Some days my world felt loud and dangerous.
Like every step risked the floor collapsing.
And other days l would slink back down...
I would give up trying to understand which feeling was correct
Because it's exhausting to constantly ask.
So I revert to recoiling.
Or let myself go numb...
No, I wasn't so brave.
And I wasn't healed.
Or better.
I'm just more aware of the existing damage.
And there is so little room to imagine happiness
When your mind is constantly reminding you how to survive.