Twice I thought I had lost it,
So far gone the dreams I once held higher than life were unrecognizable to me.
Isolation had become my home.
Therefore, my choice to flee to it when things got difficult made sense.
I became too comfortable in my own misery.
It’s tortuous ways were more familiar than the kindness I was truly longing for.
I can never put the blame on myself
For all the time’s caregivers forgot to give me care.
Yet I am responsible for all the times I forgot to provide it for myself.
To be forgotten by oneself is a pain greater than any other I have experienced.
I am owed a lot of apologizes,
Yet none is bigger than the one I owe to me.
I took the scars that were given to me and poked at them constantly.
To then hopelessly obsess over why they wouldn’t heal.
I built a fundament in the ambiguous line between moving on and obsessive behavior.
Stuck in between these two places,
The one I wanted to be in and the one I was in.
I asked the same questions so many times,
that my desperate seek for answers outweighed my desperate need for safety.
I sent myself back to people I had previously fled from,
using curiosity and my ability to overconfidently think I can resolve things as my reasons.
If they could explain their behavior then I could finally heal.
However, the more I went back the fewer answers I had.
The deeper I got to know the people that hurt me, the less their actions made sense.
They could feel and understand love and pain,
as well as the differences between the two.
Yet, had no understanding of how they had caused pain themselves.
The very mention of it was enough to trigger them to repeat it.
Desperate for me to confirm how they were not at fault.
The truth twinkling in my once again teary eyes.
That’s when I understood it.
And that understanding washed away the dirt that was blurring my sight.
What had been so complicated in the past was so simple at that moment.
The reason why their actions and words didn’t correlate.
They are stuck in this ambiguous place in between who they are and who they want to be.
Yet, the one thing that could give them their escape is the one thing they refuse to do.
Accept what had happened and the consequences that came with it.
Twice I thought I had lost it.
I thought I had lost it when my desire to participate in my own life weakened.
I thought I had lost it when I found myself back where I started.
Yet, those temporary moments of insanity were crucial.
As it was what I needed to accept what happened and the consequences that came of it.
And now that I have,
I can finally forgive myself.
And provide myself with the care I deserve and need.