It has been a long time since I last wrote a post. That has mostly to do with graduate school, which is demanding and hard and rewarding all in one. It also takes up most of my time. However, I always feel myself getting pulled to write when I need to process my feelings. Writing can be therapeutic in that way:
Some hurt is impossible to put into words.
I keep trying to think of a way to make my experience a poetic, well-thought piece of writing that others can relate to. The problem with that idea is that it’s too clean. The real hurt is messy and raw. It doesn’t sound like a poem or fit into a certain amount of characters. It impacts every day of your life. It wells up during the worst times and breaks your heart in a way you didn’t know was possible. That is real hurt.
I thought I was past the time where I could feel this kind of hurt. I had distanced myself from those that caused pain. However, like most things, it didn’t work like I planned. So here I am, a mess again over things I cannot change. I feel powerless against it. Yet, sometimes I still feel like a warrior who will persevere through this. Like I will be refined through the flames. Sometimes I feel so small and weak.
And sometimes I feel selfish. That there are so many people who love me and choose me, yet it doesn’t replace the people who don’t. So I try to hide that feeling. I try to fit my hurt into a small, pretty box. I don’t let it be the real mess that it is.
But I have to allow myself to feel that pain. I can cry for the day. I can cry for the week. I can be angry. I can be not okay for a while. I have rebuilt my life through the rubble many times. I have taken pain and turned it into inspiration. I’m sure I will find my way to that place again eventually. But for right now, it hurts. And I have to let it.