The white static that’s constant in my head isn’t gone with I’m with you. But it’s not quite as loud.
I fell into the rhythm of being and coping that I refused to accept that I was still impaired. That I was still damaged and working through it. I refused to believe I hadn’t healed. The pain, the dull ache, had become so constant and it was so familiar that after a while, I had started to misplace it with comfort.
It’s not hard to think you’re okay after pretending for so long – but how easy it is to feel the sharp sting again once you try something that’s impossible until you’re healed. And I am scared to the point it seems like it’s finally in the past. But just beneath the mostly healed epidermis, a gaping hole is aching and bleeding.
I thought I had gotten darker but it turns out it was just a perpetual bruise.
I am not healed and I’ve never moved on. I know that I should, I’ve know it was time for a while. But that was the one thing I was never good at: letting go.