Yesterday I took a small step in the right direction of recovery. Three words hit me like whatever is worse than a brick, full stop, and pulled my spine inside-out in the same way an orgasm rolls through the body: “I love myself.”
And it’s harder to remember some days than it is on others. Or, more accurately, it’s harder to remember in some moments than it is in others, because right now my existence isn’t day to day but my time is being measured moment to moment.
I love myself and I’m trying to not be ashamed of my decisions. Trying to tell myself that opinions and platitudes only matter if they are my own. And, you know… same with actions. I’m learning to be glad for your actions and his and hers and theirs but in a detached way that doesn’t make me feel worse about my own lack, stagnation, pace or direction.
I’m going to try not to wonder about things like the silence that happens in the ocean or if I’ll ever be able to fuck like I used to, like a summer day, long and hot and determined.
I’m sitting under a thick blanket at three o’clock in the afternoon. It’s 90 degrees outside and I’m wondering why I hadn’t realized all along that my heart was both the problem and the solution.
I should have known. I should have known. Heart has always been the crux of who I am. People have always said it makes me soft, fragile. But I know that though it may be true on some level, I also wear my heart like a rock. I wear my heart like it could break your windows, make it rain glass beneath the street lamp. I wear my heart like a quivered lip refusing to let the tears fall until it’s too late or too hard to stop, to let the flood out. I wear my heart strong. My heart sings like a battle scar. My heart hits like a bruise. My heart holds its breath when it thinks about most things, when it only knows how to ask questions. My heart is made of concrete. My heart grows dandelions from its cracks.
My heart will make me bleed and crumble, make me (make you) slide down a wall.
Sometimes my heart doesn’t know if it can take it all.
My heart beats weak in the mornings.
My heart wilts like a flower when everyone is looking, but nobody can see it wane.
I love myself. I’m sorry if you worry about my ability to be empathetic because of it, but it’s a small price to pay if I can just constantly continue to love myself.