Its been awhile, I usually save my blog posts just for Tumblr and some of you have access but whatever.
I’ve come to a point in my life where I’m so fortunate that my only woes are now superficial desires and memories of events passed. I used to swear that I would live my entire life without a single regret but such was the idealism of youth. Its a naiveté I wish I still possessed, along with other things.
A lot happened last year that I won’t hash out here because you guys already know what went down. Despite all the trouble I got into as a kid, I thought I’d seen enough, knew enough to know what I was doing. I didn’t then and I don’t now. I trusted my heart and it bit me in the ass. Real life is ugly and tragedy comes in with such overwhelming darkness that I never thought I’d escape it.
But I am, and I guess that’s what I’m saying here. The clouds are lifting, most days I am able to feel joy in the same ways that I used too before everything happened. I have the incomparable gift of being able to start over and go forward without repeating the same mistakes. Its difficult, and I slip up. The thing about tragedy is that it takes as much as it gives, while lending not enough to your wisdom. Lord knows I wish I had come out of all of that with the infinite knowledge of exactly what I’m supposed to do but unfortunately it doesn’t work that way. I still knock my head sometimes and have to remind myself “girl, you’re young still, still learning, still learning, its okay.”
This life has been no holiday, a complicated situation after the other. We don’t get a limit on how much pain we see and experience and that’s a difficult thing for me to swallow. I promised myself no one would ever take away my right to consent once and it still happened again despite my own precautions. In 21 short years I have had more suffering than many much older people have ever experienced and the reality of it is that there will be more. Knowing that makes it hard to get out of the house somedays, PTSD sucks, but life goes on. I’ve gotten to the point where that hole that I was in after everything that happened seems surreal. I can talk about it (to a degree) which helps, and I have accepted that people will always respond the same. The shock, the pity, the questions, more pity, “I’m so sorry”, and the change in the way they look at me. I can deal, its okay. But they always say the same thing “I don’t know how I would survive anything like that” and I’m always surprised at that response, as if I had a choice. What else could I have done? Life is short, it continues whether you want it to or not and because of this, there is nothing but survival. When faced with my own mortality in the moments that he tried to kill me, all I could think was “God, please don’t let me die. Save my life and I promise I will go forward and I will be better.”
The thing about misery and giving up is that they are the privileges of a spoiled child. I cannot ever again feel the pain that I felt last year. Its not in me, if it were I’d cut it out. I don’t want it, don’t need it to make me human or validate myself. Living in hell was what made me realize that I would literally give anything to just experience the simplicity of peace and contentment, ideas that as a child, I was wildly opposed too. So I have fought with everything in me to achieve the normalcy that comes with trivial displeasures and equates them to suffering. The closer I come to regaining possession of my own body and the ability to let people into my life, the more joy I feel, knowing I am accomplishing my goal. This is my gift, the second chance to do it right, value everything and reject all bullshit that won’t bring me genuine happiness.
I’ve thought a lot about who my daughter would have been if I hadn’t had my miscarriage. And I know its weird to assign a gender to a broken limbs of fetal tissue that I flushed down the toilet but that part is as real to me as she is. I am nothing short of grateful that I am not a mother as it has never been what I want, but death is still death. I try to tell myself that the soul of my child was shipped right back up to Heaven to wait for a family that deserves her, and while that notion might be ridiculous, its played a tremendous part in my own healing process. My second chance is hers as well, and in the event that one day that soul becomes a body and that body’s path crosses mine, I hope she’s proud of me.