Trigger Warning: brief mentions of self harm.
God, I hope so.
I have not gone through hell and high water to be the same girl I was when I was ten, twelve, fifteen, eighteen. I have not survived the hellish misery that was my teenage years to be the same girl I looked like before. I have not torn the sky in two with my screams only to be the same girl I was.
God, I hope so.
I never wanted to be the same. Even when I thought what I wanted was to be safe, it was never enough.
I didn’t survive self destruction, abuse, pain, agony, and unspeakable pain in order to go back to the small, misguided, naive girl I used to be. I did not throw myself off a cliff only to be caught by a safety net. I did not want to be caught. I wanted to feel the pain, to feel the terror, to own it and not be drowned by it. To conquer it. I did not learn to love the way my skin is rough and scarred and my arms are tightly muscled, to go back to being weak and frail and unable to hold my head up.
“You’ve changed. What happened to you?”
Life happened and I survived it.
I survived it and I am a hurricane. I am fire and passion and rage and death and void and emptiness. And I am stardust and holy, grace and rain and new beginnings and freedom and trust. I am the sunlight that floods into a room and traps the decay, dust, death – and holds it golden, suspended in brilliance and hope. I am shadow and light and hope and death and peace and pain. I am scars and I am whole. I am passionate rage and fury; I am a whisper in your ear, telling how the flowers smell today.
I have survived and I am not the same as I was once.
I am so much more.
~Love, Butterfly Emergent