To the person who I keep holding on for,
Here’s how a story starts: Imagine yourself in a room full of people, laughing, smiling, and ecstatic in discussion. I’m in the room. More often than not, it’s the loudest person in the room who’s facilitating whatever narration or dirty joke that cracks them up. It’s funny, I swear it is. But I’m lost without a comeback, there’s small nod or a smile every once in a while. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to even be there. Sometimes, you never have the right thing to say and that’s enough to give birth to the wallflower, you. You sit there, observing, quiet often in corners. Maybe, I’m not meant to be in the centre of the room. I’ve made peace with that.
And after all that time, dependency is what nullifies all my personal progress.
You disappear, a lot. Where does a person draw a line between running away from everything you hold dear and truly healing? What if someone else’s healing is what destroys you a bit each time. I’m still here and I tell you each time that I will be, I feel myself slipping away. Don’t do this, please, because the next time I’m afraid I won’t be here and I’ll be just another broken promise. My word has to mean something when everyone gives up. Our parents belonged in a time where what was broken could be mended and the scars were the pride of a warrior. I hide mine like that battle was never fought. I told someone important to me about what happened, she said you stick around for family. But would you forgive me if I stayed yet said every cruel thought to your face about how mad I am at you? I’m worried all the time, in the mornings, in between breaks where I remember you’re an entire ocean apart and there is nothing I can do to help. I hate you for not letting me be a hero. I’d fail, but I’d try for you anyway. I know I need to be a more accepting person, but I can’t right now. Because all I feel is misery and each time a little worse. I have so much to take care of, and I can’t do that while I’m worried about you. It’s who you are, the kind that treats everyone with grace except yourself.
Just hang in there, I am too. And if I give up, I hope you’d forgive me. I always wanted to be someone fearless but I was wrong. I’m scared I’m alone if you’re not here to tell me it’ll be alright, I won’t make it. I’m scared I’ll live in the past long enough to blur the future and present even more than it already is.
I honestly don’t know what to do. The practical person in me knows that this looks toxic. I’ve had a pattern my whole life so why should she surprise me? It’s just that easy, to cut your losses and move forward like it never happened, but what am I supposed to erase? The people who make living worth it but are also your own personal hell? How do you love like this, like you don’t know if they are the reason you breathe or suffocate your soul?
There’s that one morning where you feel everything. And then there’s now, a big void of nothingness. The pressure to be functional and what if, the only way was to look the other way?
I hope the next time we talk, you’d be ready and I’d be wiser.
The person who only wanted someone to stay.