The past two years of my life have been hell. It's taken everything in me and then some, to simply still be standing today. But in the process, I became someone I'm not. Someone I don't like. I've always wanted people to walk away from an encounter with me knowing that I genuinely care about them. I want love to be seen in my eyes, heard in my words, felt in my touch. But that stopped happening. People walked away wondering if I even liked them.
I was too tired to think of anyone but myself.
I was too absorbed in my own mess to help others in theirs.
I was too focused on my pain to let people know how much they mean to me.
I was too sad to leave joy, too anxious to leave peace.
I was too caught up in my stuff, in myself, to let others know I care. Or maybe even to care at all.
I cried myself to sleep, but I had no tears to mourn with others.
I became touchy and edgy. Paranoid, sensitive, snappish.
I put walls up around my heart and believed the lie that I could protect myself from further hurt.
I was wrong.
And now I look back on who I've become, and it makes me so sad. How anyone has loved me through this backwards metamorphosis is beyond me.
Pain is no excuse to not show love.
Those who've been in my life over the past two years, know this:
And to those who've stuck with me in spite of me, who've even leaned in and drew me closer, thank you doesn't cut it. But it's all I've got. I'm overwhelmingly humbled.
Thank you for loving me still...