I used to worry that if I wasn’t on Twitter or Facebook for one day or if I took a social media break I would destroy everything I’ve accidentally been building. I think I was afraid people would forget me.
Maybe I was afraid I would forget myself. The me who wants to be somebody. The me who has dreams and goals and something to give back to the world. The me who made a name for herself.
Recently, I realized I’ve already forgotten. The me who was driven, resourceful, intelligent, and passionate, became a mirage of a shadow I used to be, buried under the debris of lost love and grief, and the new me keeps shoveling dirt; hiding any signs of life that might escape it. Self-sabotaging, self-destructive me.
I’ve come to embrace it. I’ve come to walk with my loss and my grief. It adorns me. I wear it like a cape around my shoulders. I sit with it in the stillness of the morning and in the darkness of 2 AM silence. I accept self-defeat with every tear that I cry while claiming that life did not break me; loss did not scathe me. My heart is not weak. I am not broken. I am carrying grief. Deflective, projective me.
I used to worry that if people could see my true reflection they would see the fraud I see. A mediocre friend, average parent, struggling student, orphaned heart crying for home; lost, lonely, less than perfect… me.
I used to worry the world would see the same me that I see and in time, they would hate and reject me as much as I hate and reject myself… while stuffing the truth beneath layers of aged loss. whiskey, and poetic wings. Disabled, enabled me.
Running from anything that will make me forget the pain in my heart and the scars on my feet. Running from anything that will paint purpose over the darkness of my own soul, so that I no longer have to carry the weight of all the things my hands can achieve. Fearful, doubtful, low self-esteemed me.
I am not broken. I am not weak.
Lies I whisper when I can’t see light reflecting off the jagged edges of human, imperfect me.
And I tell myself the world cannot see, no one knows. I tell myself it’s outside of my control and I refuse to let go as I hide the real me. I’ve not given up. I have not settled. I’ve not chosen defeat. No. Not me!
I’m carrying grief.
Grace Durbin © 2017
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