piece by piece we
this time we fight
not for anything
or anyone else
but for our damn selves.
– the aftermath // life after death
What do I say to you girls — you beautiful girls? You girls who are having the Bad Year — the Bad Year where you cannot remember why you were happy aged 12, and cannot imagine being happy at 21? … That panic and anxiety will lie to you — they are gonzo, malign commentators on the events of your life. Their counsel is wrong. You are as high, wired and badly advised by adrenaline as you would be by cocaine. Panic and anxiety are mad, drugged fools. Do not listen to their grinding-toothed, sweaty bullshit … And the most important thing? To know that you were not born like this. You were not born scared and self-loathing and overwhelmed. Things have been done — which means things can be undone. It is hard work. But you are not scared of hard work, compared with everything else you have dealt with.
– Caitlin Moran
“I remember tracing my fingers over your face, trying to memorize every inch of you. I was so afraid that one day you would be taken away from me. I remember thinking how lucky I was to have held you so close. I wanted for nothing else when I was with you. Those days tangled up in you – I never wanted it to end. But now you’re gone and all I’m left with is the ghost of you. Grief cracks my heart wide open. I knew this moment would come. I knew I had to memorize you because one day I wouldn’t be able to hold you anymore.
I met you and it changed me. For once in my life there was something I wanted. So much. I think maybe I loved you more than love allowed.”
Sometimes I scroll through the saved entries in my journal and I shock myself with how real and how potent my emotions were at the time of writing. I remember when I wrote this. It was late into the night – grief had torn my chest wide open and tears were spilling out of my eyes as I typed into my phone with trembling fingers. I had known loss before but not like this. I had known betrayal before but never like this.
It was then that I learnt that love can push you to the brink of esctacy only to kill you in the next moment without so much as a warning sign. And I, I was but a frail doll caught up in the brazen ruthless arms of the wrong man.
Those months were so sleepless. I never want to feel that kind of horrific pain again.
But time is merciful. It softens the blow of wounds and quietly tucks memories away on a little shelf. Time has also made room for a quiet hope inside my heart that one day I might hold a love so sweet and tender in my arms again, this time maybe for real. Maybe to stay.
… I wonder if I will know inside when it is safe to love that deeply again.
I’ve held love so precious and tender in my hands.. and I’ve had love robbed from me just as cruelly as a newborn child is ripped from its mother. I’ve tasted of love so sweet only for it to slip through my fingers as I cried helpless. So believe me when I tell you sorrowfully to appreciate the love you have when you have it. If you have love, real love, the kind that makes you feel at home and sends fire coursing through your veins all at the same time, fight to keep it. Fight even if the whole universe tries to keep you from it. Love is always worth it. I sit here and write to you with trembling fingers hoping that one day I get to hold love like that again, and keep it this time.