inhale

I wish I could go back to when I was 23 and tell myself then that I deserve better. It took me years and looking at lipsticked words on a mirror to believe it.

In a devastating world we have normalized so many things that people don’t deserve experiencing or witnessing. Chaos is normal. Death is normal. People hurting others is normal.

You just pick yourself up and keep walking while the whole world is on fire, you look at people’s faces for a reaction and there are none. We are struggling so hard yet pretending to be fine because an alarm will still go off at 7:30am tomorrow.

I’m tired of reaching out and talking about things

Tired of one traumatic stressor after another

I’m tired of holding on to the idea of how much better everything is supposed to get

I ripped off a 6 year old bandaid by force and didn’t realize the flood of grief, pressure, and shame I would feel from it. I feel like I don’t know who I am anymore and I am so embarrassed to be hurting and broken like this.

I’m in a place of self judgement, self harm, and a lot of numbness

I am just so fucking tired of everything.

I finally said no. I finally said I’ve had enough. I finally stood up for myself in the most difficult way. I want to be proud but I don’t know how. In the midst of this triumph, the most I feel is grief. I feel tired, exhausted, and lost. Trauma has been my identity for the last 6 years. I was trauma bonded. I hate that crutch of a phrase. I’m more comfortable when someone yells at me, ignores my tears, and becomes physically violent. I’m used to being threatened and being unheard. Being barricaded when I feel unsafe or uncomfortable and I just want to go home. I’m okay with chaos following after too many drinks. A call from jail, or a threat that a life will end if I don’t do as they say. I’m used to believing that I deserved it, and it’s my fault – even if I wasn’t there. Coming back to it all for the 9th, 10th, 11th time because I believe maybe this time it will be different. I fall for the apologies and the love bombing. He knows that I care too much about him despite everything. I listen to others who are used to it and normalize it. I’m used to people giving up and losing touch because they can’t keep watching me put myself through hell. I’ve been used to it. I’ve been addicted to it.

I relived fragments of suppressed memories to do this. I relived my hardest moments for this. I was nauseous every day. I forgot how bad it truly was because I didn’t want to believe it. It’s normal, it’s fine, I’m not the only one. The others like me are doing okay, so I should be okay too. I went through another fast version of hell for this. I’ve been numb for years, experiencing, repressing, and moving on to exhale into the next day. Shouldn’t I be relieved that I am finally free? I can finally live my life without someone shaming and guilting me for every choice I make to feel happy. No more threats to my safety and well being. No more meeting toxic expectations for love. No more being stuck and not being enough.

That is correct, I feel grief. I’m fully seeing everything for what it really was. I grieve the years I lost to suffering when I could have bloomed instead. The people I loved dearly who I pushed away. People who chose to walk away too. How I am failing to function and I still feel afraid to make wrong moves. I have to live with this, all of it, be silent about it, and pretend it never happened. Smile for society and the systems in place. Pretend like I am doing just fine because on paper, it seems like I should have no reason to feel unsafe, traumatized, imprisoned, right? Right. I’m doing just fine, like I’ve been pretending for the last 6 years anyways.

I’ve had some of the hardest days lately. I am genuinely so tired of feeling my emotions. I hate that I’ve pushed myself to this point. I just want better days and better company that will stay through the hard days with me. Please tell me that life isn’t supposed to be this hard and confusing all the time.

I didn’t think I would be sad. I always thought I would feel a sense of relief, that I could relax my shoulders and unclench my jaw.

I am barely existing. I am barely living. I don’t want this. I had so much hope. I endured for the chance for things to change. I saw the potential for change and I was determined to witness it.

I wish so many things and I wish them so much.

My appetite doesn’t exist. It’s fleeting. I never find myself hungry enough to finish a whole plate. I’ll sit at work, embarrassed that I can’t hide the desperate noises begging for food. But the minute I sit down to eat, nothing tastes right. My throat tightens, it shrinks. It hurts and it’s distasteful. Nothing feels good or right, suddenly I regret my cravings. It all feels just so wrong.

you have a chance to rebuild. you are no longer sitting on your knees in a shower, watching streams of water drip off of your hair and face. he’s no longer yelling. he is no longer in your sacred space. you are allowed to be alone and be left alone.

it took you this many days, and that’s okay. there are no requirements and expectations other than to one day see your own worth. be proud of yourself, despite everything. most of all, be happy — you are allowed to be yourself again.

Start building up that confidence. You’re worthy of all good things. You are so beautiful for breaking away. You’re allowed to feel every emotion you have. You’re allowed to say what bothers you without anger in return, and what makes you happy without feeling guilt. You’re allowed to talk to and be with anyone. There will be no one to tell you cruel remarks about them or you later. You will not feel ridiculed, ashamed, or unmotivated in being the happiest version of yourself.

very much avoiding the most inflating question of, “are you okay?”

Me? I’m a hollow outline of my body made from survival mode.