Some will have pity and leave. There will be a few who will come and kick me and rip me to shreds, whether for their own enjoyment, or the enjoyment of others. Others, the ones who are truly able to Love me will stay, and sit by me, or even tend to my wounds. Not because of who I am, but because of who they are. Staying by someone when they have nothing left, when their veils have been ripped, their protective shell broken, and all you see is a wounded soft underbelly is Honorable. Loving them is doubly so. I'm still not sure what hurts more. Being the wounded, or caring for the wounded. I know the rewards of both, but I've only experienced one until now. Being on the other side is uncharted territory, and showing my wounds, as ugly as they are, and knowing I'm powerless to heal myself without the time and patience of others has been humbling.
I'd like to think that in spite of the mess I must be, I'm in the healing stage. It doesn't stop people from kicking me or cutting me, but I'm no longer crying for mercy when they do it. I'm feeling defiant, not fighting them, but wondering out loud if that's the best they can do. Goading them on. I see them for who they really are. Bullies. Not Sadists. A Sadist will cut me and give me time to heal, or will at least check on me before making the next cut. Bullies kick and cut without rhyme or reason, and don't care if you'll be around. They don't tend to wounds. A Sadist will be patient. Tending to my wounds because it's become a game. I respect that. A Sadist won't purposely kill you. The aim of the bully is to be the victor. "I killed (person)" or "Look how powerful I am. I won."
Did someone call me a self-serving masochist? Really???!!! Like anyone would gleefully be exposed, beaten down to nothing, and left to die willingly? No. That is not masochism, that is insanity! My defiance isn't masochism, and even though it might appear to be insanity, I know that in order for me to get strong again, I will have to push myself. Go beyond what I feel I can handle in order to stand on my own, or in this case, stand with the Ones who Love me, who are Honorable, and who understand that this ugly wounded mess is a Warrior, and will be a Warrior once again.
I could have suffered in silence and gone into hiding when I saw the writing on the wall. We've all done that. I've done that, but you reach a point in your life where you can't keep running and hiding. When you realize that talking about your pain and maybe even showing it's ugly side will finally heal you. When you're exposed and crushed and crawling in the dirt that's become mud from all the blood you've shed.
God knows I've suffered losses in every part of my life. I've fought the demons of Fear and Insecurity, and in spite of all that, I never gave up, but sometimes you have to stop and breathe. I didn't give up.
Listen, did you hear that? I'm breathing.
Touch me. Did you feel that? It's my heart beating.
My eyes are open. Do you know what I see? I didn't think so. Only the blind run and hide. I'm not blind anymore. I see things as they are. Yes, I'm a mess, but I see that light at the end of the tunnel, and this time, I'm pretty sure it's someone else with a flashlight and not a train getting ready to run me down.
Can I be your flashlight?