My mind goes in circles at night.
My heart just tries to keep up.
There's a certain odd feeling.
One that I can't quite figure out.

Its interesting to walk in here.
To see walls that I used to know.
To hear voices I used to remember.

Everything is different and quiet.
Feels like I'm not home anymore.
Like I'm just a stranger.
A stranger you invited in your home.

Come into the light so I can run my eyes over you.

Come closer to me so I can feel your skin against mine.

I don't care about your weaknesses enough to stop loving you because of your flaws.

You saw past the scars and the sad eyes and self loathing looks at my body.

As far as I'm concerned, this love is for real.

This love is for keeps.

Fingers entwined, yours fit well with mine.
Two bodies in bed, mine fits well with yours.
I could never say that this is a mistake.
But at night while you sleep, I second guess my choices.
And while you sleep with an arm around me, I'm as complete as could be.

Based on my history, based on my past.
I haven't been the best for you.
And it's been years since I've seen you.
Years since I've heard your voice.

You of all should know I'm not enough.
And I'm done crying over you.
Wasting sleep over us.

I've spent my life looking for the best version of myself in the novels that sit on my bookshelf.
I don't know what exactly I'm hoping to find, maybe a beginner's guide to healing.
Broken. A mess. Traumatized. Sad.
Those are all true.
Strong. Brave. Passionate. Kind.
Those are all true.
Healing is a weird process for myself in particular.
When I began, I guess I thought it would be a quick thing; everything made better by sunrise.
And here I am, years later, and not a whole lot has changed.
I still find parts about myself that I despise.
I still am fighting for a balance with my eating disorder.
And every day, I have to remind myself that every day is a new day; a clean slate.
My fight isn't over yet.
My story isn't what most expect it to be.
I don't glorify the healing process.
**** gets hard for me.
It's still so hard to get up in the morning and eat something healthy.
I have to remind myself that I am strong and good enough every day.
I have to look in that mirror and tell myself "you're ******* worth it"
And I am ******* worth it.

And here I am once again, pouring the tangled and flawed mess I am onto your shoulders.

Take my tears, I don't want them anymore.

Take my scattered thoughts and make something beautiful out of them.

Take my tired eyes, please make them shine again.

I can't stand, can I lean on you?

Dear four year old self,

You were just a kid. You were never a lost cause. It wasn’t your job to protect yourself from unkind people. That was your parent’s job, and they did a **** poor job of it. Nobody expected you to take care of yourself when you were left alone for nights on end. You were right in hiding from raised voices and unkind hands. Shame on those who saw what was happening and didn’t step in to lend a helping hand. It is not your fault. It was never your fault.

I encourage you to not dwell on the physical, mental or emotional trauma and scars left in the wakes of your childhood. While it may seem easier and quicker to convince yourself that it was all a bad dream, I promise you that thinking like that will only slow down the healing process. In order to heal, move on and forgive yourself, you have to acknowledge that what happened was real and then you have to let it go.

You will have setbacks. You will fall down and bruise yourself while getting up, but I promise you that you’ll be okay. You will get stronger every day. You will get depressed and you’ll make the several attempts to end your life. You will get your heart broken and you will heal from that. You will find that marijuana does not hold the answers to the questions you’ve been so desperately craving.

love,
S