I woke up this morning with a swollen, bleeding heart.
The emotions I swam in yesterday, for my entry D.N.A, are still beating inside me.
I’m hurting. I knew that it wasn’t going to be a piece of cake, sharing all this past with you, but there is something to be said about recounting your most painful memories. In writing. Forcing yourself to climb into the rabbit hole of your past, dig around and search.A kind of sadistic treasure hunt. What you find down there, may leave a bad taste in your mouth. May cause your heart to quicken. Make you angry, ashamed and raw. Hits a nerve, one you may have been aware of, or not. Regardless, it’s gonna cut you, on some level. I made a pact with myself that this blog was going to be real. That I wouldn’t chump out and hide. So, Hi…this is Me…not hiding.
I was sixteen years old when I got arrested for the un-mentioned crime. I tell you all soon enough, but for that your just gonna have to wait.
Sixteen years old. Just reading that messes with my head. Sixteen. A baby. Being twenty-seven now, with my own child, it hits a spot in my oversized heart. The place inside that boils over with empathy, with compassion. That kind of breaks your heart. If you allow yourself to feel it that deep. I wonder what I would have said to myself, if my younger me, and the me now, could stand face to face. I can’t even think of anything, ’cause the me back then wouldn’t have heard a word. The me back then, the sixteen year old Angie, would have stared at the ground, bypassing my words of sound advice, and taking it all as an act, of blowing smoke up my ass. She would have percieved my act of kindness as self-serving or false. I want to pick her up and slap her around. Remind her that life will prevail, and one day I’ll look in the mirror and see myself for the first time. I realize that, the sixteen year old Angie still exists inside of me. Somewhere locked away, where she sits in the dark spots of my concious… crying. Punching things, and screaming obcenities. Half of me is walking in her shoes today. Half the twenty seven year old me , and half the her I was once was. It hurts, my heart beats an ache I’m more familiar with then I’d like to admit. I want to take her shoes off and go back to my good life, but there are some things I have to say to her first. Here goes…
You have every right to be angry that you spent almost three years in jail. Honey, I know what you did was very wrong. I know you feel remorse for that. I’m not going to sit here and force you to be held accountable, or own any of this. Because, I know you already have. It would be against your nature in all ways if you hadn’t. I know you better then that, and because of that I’m going to let you put it all down now. I want you to know that I understand….I really do. A lot of people are going to point the finger at you now. They are going to tarnish you and knock you around. They are going to try very hard to convince you that you will never rise above this. That this moment is going to define you. Please baby…don’t believe them. I know, you hate yourself in a way I cannot touch on. I know, that two weeks before you we’re arrested, you thought very long and hard about when and how you were going to end your own life. The only reason why you didn’t is because God stopped you. I’m very glad he did sweetheart. Honey, life for the next few years is going to be very hard for you. I want you know, how very wise and strong you really are. That you are going to make it…and not just make it…but rise above and over it in ways, that now, you cannot imagine. There is nothing I can do to stop what’s coming…but I want you to know, you didn’t deserve any of this. You are not a monster. Your choices we’re the choices you had..slim pickins at a time such as this. Yes, you made the wrong one, and the damage done is irrevocable, but it will not go without purpose. No one has the right to judge you, unless they’ve walked in your shoes. No one has the right to define you, label you, or put you in a box. Please, baby, don’t do that to yourself either. Don’t fall victim to the harsh words and reactions. Beleive me when I tell you, you deserve honour. You deserve to have someone hold your hand through all of this, and even if no one comes, which they likely won’t, I’ll be there. Deep on the inside of you, a voice from your future…pressing on. Ignore the scars running jagged along your wrists, you won’t be trying to kill yourself again, will you? no..you won’t. Because my love, you have a future. There is a little boy up there with God, waiting for you to be his Mommy…a man out in the world, waiting to honour you and love you in ways you can’t even comprehend right now. A family at home waiting for you to return, and fill their life with all the times lost to them. Times, they dream of, waiting for you to wake up to life for the first time. So, hold your breath sweetheart, and take the dive. This is gonna hurt like a bitch…but I’ll be here. One day you’ll look up and see ME in the mirror…and this will all make sense. I love you so much..and can’t wait until we meet…absolve into eachother…and be whole for the first time. It’s time to let you go babe…it’s just time to let you go…
Sincerly and with all grace,