You know what I always thought. I thought I was broken. I didn’t fit. Not into people, places… Not into life. I didn’t fit. My mould was askew from the beginning.
As time passed, I always felt ‘on the outside’. Social circles, family, work…people…acceptance. The black sheep. I was just a damaged product of everything that had happened/was happening to me. A product of what people had done to me, what I had done to myself.
Not a person…just a result, a product of pain, distance and hurtful, selfish, thoughtless actions.
Even now…I have trouble with the thought that I am more than that some days.
There are days I don’t want to be around anyone, talk to anyone…some days even just being with myself is hard. Some days I just don’t want to be happy. I want to be sad and hurt, and feel the weight of the world and what it has done to me. In perspective, there are people who have been through worse, I know…but that’s where being selfish comes into it. My life is what I have experienced, so it’s what I know. It’s what affects me.
I’ve done things to try and feel better, to make the past just that, to make the future a slate clean of the mental baggage, to make the days brighter. But forgetting is not an option.
What I need, is to just be okay with who I am, regardless of why, and from where I came.
I need to be okay with the fact that I can’t change the past, but I can try and make the future into what I need/want it to be.
I need to accept that I have learned good things from the bad things, and gained strength and determination from the hard choices.
I need to accept that I don’t need to make apologies for the way I chose to fix what others had broken.
I have had a long time to think about all of this, a lifetime (in my personal unit of measurement) in fact, to rearrange and prioritise thoughts and events. I realised something that doesn’t make all the hurtful things go away, but it helped to make more sense of them in my head… It’s not me.
I’m not broken…they are.
The ones who did the hurting, the hating, the indifference, the abuse-physical, mental and emotional. The ones who can transfer any level of pain onto another person without thought, guilt or fear of consequence. The ones who can hurt a person, look them in the eye and then walk away with their head up. The ones who know someone is hurting, and hurt them some more. The ones who feel justified to do what they want to someone without care or empathy.
They…they are the broken ones.
Sure, I have the damage, I have the emotional conflict, I have made choices I am not proud of at times, I have experienced more than some, I have regrets, but I have never intentionally hurt anyone. I have never used anyone for the sole purpose of my own egotistical gain.
“We’re all damaged, it seems. Some of us more than others. We carry the damage with us from childhood, then as grown-ups, we give as good as we get. Ultimately, we all do damage. And then, we set about the business of fixing whatever we can.”
My wounds are scars. They have healed to that extent, but sometimes even scars itch. They threaten to tear and spill your soul bare to the world. They threaten to weaken you as a person. They try to stop you from letting yourself move forward and open yourself to good, wholesome, enriching experience in the future.
But I am refusing to let them.
Because it’s the future that I can see. I can see hope…and feel love, so the past can stay right where it is.