Healing Words For A Heavy Heart: You Are Brave.
I know how you feel, and I’m sorry.
I’m sorry this raw wound put roots in you, froze your soul and turned you cold, numb, hard. I’m sorry the days break crisp and sharp, icicles of sunlit shards that sting your heart and prick your skin. I’m sorry everything aches.
It is early yet, and you fret your falling apart will never fall together, but these hollowed limbs and wooden splinters of who you used to be, and all you used to dream, will slowly be set free, stacked neatly in the hearth of your heart and lit to fuel the flames of your future — a way forward, onward, upward, but most of all, to burn and burn and burn some more if only to remind you what it feels like to feel again.
It’s going to be okay, and you will be too.
You are going to be okay.
Please read that sentence again.
And once more.
We learn best when we hurt worst, and while I wish it wasn’t true, it is for you, it is for me, and it always will be. Pain is merely an ugly, early version of wisdom, and I urge you to embrace both, for we must be intimate with darkness before light lures us where we need to go.
May the dust of regret choke your breath, may the fires of denial scorch your eyes, and may you crave thorns while aching for roses. May you despise the world with wild glee, for only then will you know love, and only then will you know life. There will never be another way. Give it time.
You must learn to love the hate planted in your veins, water your despair with tears from fears and dreams, and grow a flower made of resoluteness with a scent like summer rain. It will be beautiful. You will be beautiful.
You must choose to believe in your own beauty as powerfully as you fear this ugliness will never end, will never stop, but it is always darkest before the dawn and you must find grace in patience. However, if you cannot look up, if it’s too hard and it’s taking too long, be patient. Hope will be here soon. Hold on.
We are the love in our scars and the fight in our hearts. Yours still beats, and though you have been beaten, you will not be beat.
Our lives are slow miracles. Keep fighting.
Your unraveling now rivals lessons learned in school — the spelling, math and reading books, of course, but also tears you earned from schoolyard bullies and bonds you formed from acting silly, from playing and dreaming and daring to believe that there is more to this world than the chain-linked life surrounding you.
There is more to the world than this chain-linked life surrounding you.
Jump the fence. Change your mind. Feel differently about feeling differently for there is always another side to the struggle, to life, to lies, just as there is always more to you, to us, to this.
One day you will look back at these monstrous moments, these early morning massacres, these painful pitch black chats like heart attacks, these nights with no end, these dreary, desolate days, these skeleton hopes, and these insufferable smirks hiding anorexic dreams, and I promise you, one day, you will smile at these horrors.
Tomorrow might be that day.
You just never know.
It will happen. It does happen. It has happened already, and it will happen again, but it starts with a choice, always.
Decisions are the difference. Make one. Please.
These napalm nights will pass, this cold sunlight will warm, and we must not fear the frostbite if we ever hope to thaw.
And you will thaw. Of course you will.
Self-destruction is simply the start, a beginning of building yourself up but when you are down, when you have nothing left, when you are just numb dust and empty bones, you are wholly limitless, a holy canvas of experience, and you can place the paint on your blank masterpiece wherever you may wish.
Sandcastles wash away when waves crash and tides rise, and so, too, do we. Our palaces collapse, but like waves, our hardest crash forms the firmest shore. It is natural, normal, and when we are smooth and whole and ready once more, we will be brave enough to build again.
You are brave enough to build again.