This is not the way it has to be. Where you live is so lonely and scary and isolating. You are so far away. I want to show you that there is a place where you can be whole and happy and free from everything that haunts you. Every tear, every word, every text and message will bring us closer to where we need to be. You must give back all of the things that do not belong to you. You don’t have to carry it and own it any longer. Let them carry the pain of what happened. You have waited your whole life to say that they had no right to do what they did.
I find myself in a place of disquiet and try to think of the world that you speak of. I can neither see it nor have the ability to imagine what it would look like. I never considered living somewhere other than where I am. Perhaps it always felt out of my reach and I thought the only alternative was to make the best of what I was given. I don’t think I ever truly believed it was even a possibility to not be here, in the place that I know so very well. I try to picture something different but I cannot. I do not know if I belong there. But I don’t know if I belong here either.
I don’t know where I belong at all.
I have lived in a very lonely and broken world. A world that is horribly unforgiving. One that is utterly unfair and has harsh consequences. Consequences which never seem to belong in the right place or to the right people.
It feels hard, impossible even, to imagine that this is not the way it’s supposed to be.
How could they have been so very wrong for so many years? How could I have not seen it? How can I still, after all of these years, still have such a hard time seeing it?
I can feel myself being pulled away to a different place than where you are. Why do you stay when I am not here? Why am I not here at all? What, and who, are we trying to hide ourselves from?
The tears flow easily these days. But there are no words to convey their meaning. Writing feels like a chore and is neither something wanted nor enjoyed. The blank pages stare back and dare the ink to touch them–taunting us to allow the stories to flow outwards from the cavernous depths of isolation. A once vital tool to aid in our communication, now feels lost and useless. The words won’t form. Trapped and isolated we remained cocooned inside of our own internal hell.
We are drowning as we call out for you to save us, but you cannot hear through the thick barrier that separates us. Wanting you here, but pushing you away to save you from the ugliness that makes us who we are. Loving you is dangerous, for that is what we know and understand. If we can prevent ourselves from caring too much, it won’t hurt quite the same in the end.
You should go. Get away. From this. From me. You don’t have to stay. Leave. It’s what you can do, if you need to.
You are giving me permission to leave because you think that I, like others before me, will leave you–but I have no intention of doing so. You’re stuck with me.
That feels like an awfully big promise.
I am drifting away again. I wish you would come with me but you do not. You can only come so far into my world before the barrier prevents you from moving with me. You are stuck on the other side, unable to break through yet patiently waiting for my return and hoping that next time you can come a little further.
I want to stay. I need to stay. Yet my mind will not allow it. He can only come so far at once. We need to make sure he is safe. We need to make sure that he won’t hurt us. We need to make sure he is the one who can help.
So you wait.
Until the next time…..