There is Always Room for Growth

I haven't found freedom in the acknowledgement of my own eventual death. It is still a weight that pulls me down and reminds me of hours, days, weeks, and months culminating into years where I could not leave my bed.

I did not expect perfection, or for nothing to hurt ever again. I was not trying to take my life for granted; I did not mean to push away people I love.

My mother asked "What happened to you? You weren't scared of anything growing up."

I stayed on the edges of groups and friends because getting to know someone was easy. I'm a good listener. If I gave advice or laughed at their silly stories I was helping. If I was careful with my words I would never have to share anything too personal.

"I learned how to lie." I told my mother while we sat on the couch. "Maybe I didn't notice every time i did it. But I spoke well, was polite, could make jokes. I did the bare minimum for socializing."

At 12 my minister asked me and a group of friends who was the person we trusted the most. A best friend, a grandmother, an aunt, a father. I had no answer.

I compartmentalized everything. I never needed the world to be perfect. I had to be, so I could leave the world and my loved ones better than I found them.

"You used to stand up to the jerks." My mother said in a tired voice. "Now you're just sitting here, wallowing. I don't want to make you upset, but, I hate watching you do this to yourself."

Death is something I ran to because I did not love myself enough to stay. I never doubted that others would mourn and miss me. But, my mind was sick enough to believe that I was not worth fighting for.

"Sometimes I hate that I'm still alive. Healing is hard. I know it's good. I've done more in the past year and a half, in the last six months, than I have since high school. I'm proud of that. I know I've been having bad days."

She took my hand and squeezed. "We're so happy you're around. We're happy you're at the house. I just want more for you."

If I hold myself perfectly still. If I always answer "Yes, okay, I'm fine, that's good." I won't have to think. I won't have to change. I won't get hurt. I'll just stop, and then maybe this irrational fear will go away.

Emotions are never that simple. I could spend days looking back on all the missed oppurtunities and people i never got to know. But that won't solve anything. I'd just be hiding in the guilt, punishing myself for things no one else has ever criticized me for.

I can be my own worst enemy. I trap myself in the What If, in the COuld Have, SHould Have, WOuld Have, all the time. It's not doing anyone any good.

There will never be a last fall. There will never be a time where I am free from doubts and insecurity. But, there may be a time when death isn't something wrapped in the memories of pills, alcohol, and cuts on my hands.

"I'm trying." I told my mother. "I promise I am trying, and thank you for letting me do that in a safe place. I can't be that kid again, but hopefully one day I'll be a good adult."

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