I was triggered unexpectedly by the movie playing on the television, it took my breath for just a second but it was hearing you utter those two words when I commented on my thoughts that broke me.
The ones that rang out spontaneously and in a spiteful tone I seldom hear from you. “Shut up!”
Two little words usually spoken only in jest were now suddenly crushing my heart as out of the blue as they overshadowed your lies of forgiveness.
Two words that in this context told me you could never possibly understand the dark side of my soul. Words that stung as they reminded me that you think I deserve to feel pain for what I did to you that night, which I probably do, and yet try as I might that knowledge doesn’t make the memories and the pain of my own torturous thoughts more bearable, just more isolating.
Locked within my heart are vicious memories of paper cut traumas and the consequences I mostly brought upon myself, deep regret for hurting you in a past that I cannot change. Please believe that I wasn’t trying to damage you, I was trying to release you from the burden of my madness just as I was trying to release myself from its endless grasp.
I couldn’t be inside my crowded head anymore.
Although years have now passed since that night and time has tried to heal those wounds, in the end I am still left with the madness and we are still left with those jagged scars that never quite seem to fade, unexplainable triggers picking at my scabs until they bleed once more.
I can’t take away your anger and I have no right to, but I cannot simply ‘forget’ what bubbles just beneath the surface either. I continue to try and hide my pain from you for fear I will only hurt you more if I speak about it, fear that it will become about what I did to you, not what I felt, or what I feared – the things I do badly need to work through- and I couldn’t ever expect you to understand that.
I have changed since that night, I know more about myself now, I understand that I am a vessel with many drivers all trying to work together, learning what first brought us into the darkness, processing and understanding these experiences as lessons in order to move forward and develop an intergrated identity.
You? Well you are the same supportive, intelligent kind man I fell in love with, only now you carry around a haunted look of hurt in your eyes.
As the last of the blue washes from the ends of my hair and into my heart, my soul aches with exhausted heaviness for I cannot undo what I have done.
You lost your wife that day,
she would never be the same.
You wanted someone to pay,
You needed something to blame.
And yet you stayed by my side,
Trying to keep me safe,
Protecting me from a system
That had stolen your trust away.
I’m sorry that I hurt you,
and I’m also sorry that I lived.
Because I dragged out an inevitable ending
Which never let you grieve.
Sorry for the pain of trying to leave you,
Which I could never take away.
And also the pain of holding onto you,
Obligating you to stay.
They say that if you love them,
you should probably set them free,
But this time when I go,
I know you won’t forgive me.
These aren’t words to defend my actions,
More of an apology,
You didn’t deserve to hurt,
I wanted us both to be free.
* Just a quick note to say all is okay, this was something that happened the other day and writing it out helped ease the feeling, I just hadn’t actually shared it until today. xoxo
The titillations, tribulations, vicissitudes, and oxymoronic cogitations of a very lucky and unfortunate Neuroscientist with Bipolar Disorder
It was almost funny.
Torn. Broken. Writer. “For me, writing is an art of converting feelings to words.”
Read between the lines
The ups and downs of my recovery
On Being Creative, A Mother & Bipolar
Stationery Enthusiast & Mental Wellness Advocate
Speaking Out on the Unspeakable
Creative Writing. Book Reviews. Adult Humour.
NOT ALL WHO SUFFER ARE STRONG
Shattering the Magic Mirror