Let me tell a story.
This is a hard story for me to tell. It's definitely not one I would share to just anyone over a nice dinner. In fact, as I sit and write this, I'm second guessing myself, wondering if I should push that backspace button. Why? Because a very prideful part of me is ashamed, even though I know that I shouldn't be. A very fearful part of me is scared, for so many reasons and none at all.
Once, there was this girl. She was sixteen and curled up at the end of her bed on her bedroom floor. In one hand she clutched a phone as the other hand was balled up at her side. The girls rope lights that hung along her ceiling over her scattered artwork of pieced together posters and magazine clippings shined brightly in gold just as they always did because she was scared to turn them off. She was frightened of what it would feel like in the dark, and she can't remember the last time she slept in it. To her left The Eagles played on her CD player and the blankets and sheets were tossed about, falling haphazardly off of her bed.
This sixteen year old girl, this being who had barely had any time to really live, was drowning. The sea roared in her ears and tugged at her spirit and suffocated her fire. She was a beautiful, respectable, perfectly well- consumed, and remarkable train wreck. She was a ship set on self destruct and a toy in an army of fools. She was a small, yet desirable piece to a wicked set of games, and a empathetic, sensitive piece of a soul that always felt just a little too much and always fell a little too hard. And this girl wasn't even crying. She was sobbing. She wasn't hurt. She was crushed into dust, left to be stepped on. She hadn't just lost a piece of herself and had simply and poetically fallen apart. She was broken into tiny, glittering fragments. And she wasn't just missing something. She was undeniably hollow inside.
She had wondered if anyone would ever miss her as much as she would miss them. Would anyone love her even more than she could ever imagine? Would anyone in this world ever see her? Understand her? Could there ever be anyone to piece her together instead of tear her apart? She felt a pain so real to her at the time, she would do anything to make it stop. And her mind wondered to the darkest parts, the pits that only slide into deeper valleys and trenches. And in these trenches she wondered to herself to what extent would she go to make it all go away.
All because of a boy. A useless, selfish boy that would never know any better, who would never do any better. A boy who cared so little that he didn't even feel when he left a trail of pitiful destruction in his wake. He was a tornado and she was a tree. He was water and she was fire. He was the wolf and she was the mindless sheep. At the time she didn't know this. She didn't know about another more important man that she would meet in less than two years. She didn't know that he would look at her in a way where it felt the world shifted and that she mattered. She didn't know that the smell of leather would become one of her favorite scents and that she would love frosty starlit nights. She didn't know that she would marry this man who was, at the time, in Germany. She didn't know that so many others things would matter and that she would eventually not even be able to recall what that boy really even looked like. She didn't know that over time his face would fade from her memory and that she would never in a million years connect him with the word love. But she should have known. She should have.
I remember this night so clearly. Because I was that sixteen year old girl. It's not because this was my only bad night, because in the course of that toxic relationship I had a lot, A LOT, of bad nights. And it's not because this night really held any kind of epiphany or self revelation for me. In fact, I often wondered why this night has always been held so vividly in my mind. And I think it's because it's the lowest I had been. At such a tender age I had hit rock bottom and went even further down to sink into the black abyss. At only sixteen!
So here's my point. And this is why I am telling this story that may not even matter to some.
It's because I was at such a pivotal time in my life right then. Anything could have tugged me off of one side or the other. Any trivial thing could have swayed me. And that can be scary. In hindsight I don't believe that I would have done anything so permanent and impulsive, but just simply how sad and alone I had felt that night was enough.
But I pressed on and I survived. I saw the sunrise and another sunset and the twinkling of the white light stars. And because of that it all passed. Everything from that night went away and I shed it like a layer of dead skin. And when I awoke I was new again. The day was new again. And I could do anything that I wanted with it. And now, here I am, almost twelve years later, married to that guy who sees me, who loves me, who is loyal to me, who gave me a new appreciation for the smell of leather and frosty starlit nights. And I don't even remember that boy. Because he never mattered in the grand scheme of things. And what has never mattered can be just simply washed away. Clean the slate. Start fresh. Wipe all of the dirtiness of that past self's existence away. Come to terms with your scars, fresh and raw, and then allow them to heal and shine. Don't hide them. Don't be ashamed of them. Because they are your story. They are what make you , you. And they are proof that you've made it through your own personal hells and came out a freaking warrior.
Now? Now I am listening to my eight year old son and six year old daughter play, and then fight, and then play, and then fight in the next room. And that is okay. Because this is what I wanted! This is what I've been blessed with! This is what is in my cards and what I have wanted all along! And the only thing that matters at the end of the day are their pitter patter of footsteps running down the hall, and the two of them talking at bedtime when they are supposed to be asleep, and their bedtime prayer and song, and how they are all of a sudden thirsty when they are curled up under the covers instead of before they climb into bed.What matters at the end of the day is the kiss I get from my husband, our string of shows that we watch loyally every single week and laugh about, the tea that I make us and how I can't put the fitted sheet on our bed so he does it for me.
So what I'm trying to say is, is it all gets better. You, that sixteen year old who stumbled across this. It gets so much better! You are not even close to the peak of the best years of your life. Don't give another thought about that boy that hurt you, or that rumor that was spread, or what people think of you. Move along! Open a new door if one has been slammed on you. There are so many doors out there. Thank God for your opportunities because he's the reason that you have them! Take them and hold on to them for all that you are worth, because you are worth a whole hell of a lot.
This isn't coming from some girl a decade older than you that "thinks" that they understand you, or "thinks" that they have been there. I'm telling you. I HAVE been there. I HAVE had my heart shatter, rumors spread about me, and my blood spilled. I have been worried over and have done the worrying. I have been to therapy and have made tons of mistakes. And I will STILL tell you. It. Gets. Better. It gets...heavenly.
Trust me. This stranger telling you this. Because one day, when you do pull through, and you are content and happy and filled to the top with laughter and love, you will remember this. And you'll finally realize that I was right.
So hold on. Hold on damn tight. And wait for it. Wait patiently. Because in the end, it will all be worth it.
