trigger warning: discussion of anxiety and feelings of anxiety throughout, brief mention of abuse, moderate discussion of depression.
you have told me from such a young age, that in order to heal, i must let go.
but how do i let go of the thing that
will not let go of me?
that held me, embraced me when you did not.
that is like ripping the blanket away from the child. like stealing all the child has known their entire life in the dead of night, and running like a bandit through the dark. it is like
ripping out the stitches against the doctor’s orders. you should not
or the wound will not heal. i did not watch rivers flow silently from your eyes for so long
to be told that i am lost in my own head and that i am fine.
i did not watch him threaten you
and watch your face crumple to dust
to be told i am not allowed to feel this.
i did not watch you bite your tongue each time his hands came against you to wear you down
to be told i cannot bite my nails to keep from going insane.
i did not raise the beating in my stomach each time i was forced away from you, to be told that i have done this to myself.
i did not slip so far away, to be without your reaching hand.
i did not ask for this. i did not stay quiet for so long, and snap my mouth shut each time i was requested to speak, to be turned away like a beggar.
i did not cry under the covers of your bed, to be scared every time you shut the door behind you. nor did i hide behind your curly hair, to be hiding in my room away from prying eyes.
i did not spend years of my life, living and loving every person that came my way, to be scared to look out my window. i did not hide every tick, every emotion, for so long, to be told my outlet is terrifying.
i am not upset. i am not enraged. you poured your love into me all these years, and still kiss these tear-stained cheeks. you have kissed the bruises and cleaned the cuts. you have put band-aids on my torn palms, and touched my heart with your angelic love.
what i am saying, is this: i have spent these years, so bent on my own destruction, that i was willing to blame anybody. even the one who has always stood behind me, held my hand, and held me tightly. the one who brushed the hair out of my eyes, and dusted me off when i fell. i was too blind to see. too blind to see that the one i thought had left me, was waiting for me fall into their arms this whole time.
you have always told me to call for you when i have fallen down.
mother, please come to me now. i think i have fallen.
this emptiness i created when i felt you had left me to be victim to the vultures, was nothing more than my own self-pity, and the hole i fell into was one i had dug myself with the shovel my father had given to me on my eighth birthday when he told me to bury my demons. mother, my demons are my enemies.
you are not my enemy.
i do not know how I managed to be so blind. how i came to blame you for things i had done to myself. how i did not see all you were doing. how this dark hole of anxiety had tricked me into believing that you were at fault. when it was me. it has always been me. i love you more than i can say. and can never repay all you have done for me.
love, the sunless wanderer.