The face of December
I guess I’m still healing, even though I thought I’d be over it by now. December forces me to face the scars I’m wearing under my skin, the tears I have been hiding away behind my eyes and commands me to break through this positivity I’ve been hiding in.
I’ve spent my days healing, at least, that’s what I thought. But the end of the tunnel is still no where close and the ground still cracks beneath me. Sunset still makes me sad and Christmas lights still remind of a time when the winter days held more feelings of hope, than sensations of cold.
Healing isn’t pretty. It’s crying on the way back home from work, it’s writing until your fingers start to bleed. It’s feeling all the emotions, from shame to anger, from sadness to hopelessness. Healing is not linear, it’s a spiral. With every step you take, you’ll have to take two steps back. And even though you know you’ll get there eventually, keeping faith isn’t always easy. You’ll getting no where fast.
I feel stupid for having feelings as deep as the Pacific Ocean. I don’t know why I keep hiding in the dark. Lately, I’ve been trying everything to climb up the staircase that leads to the sun. But every time I get a little too close, I get burnt. Please tell me, because I don’t know, why the light keeps blinding me each time I come too close.
I’ve been thinking of lovers that once held my heart. The ones that could only love me when it’d get dark. The men in disguise that treated me nice on occasion. I came to thought it was me. I came to thought it was just me that was hard to love. I gave them permission to treat me like a dog. Because, I just thought that was what I did deserve.
But I do know better now, even though this realisation won’t ease the pain. I still feel so much shame, so much regret, for letting them treat me like that. I guess I’m too forgiving, too kind at heart. I would hate them if I could, but it’s just not in my blood.
I hope December brings me the healing that I need. I’m ready and I’m open to finally find relieve. I’m done with being a hostage to the past. I’m tired of being controlled by the toxicity of my head.
Please December, be good to me.