By the way, I can drive and cry...shop and cry, find my car in a garage and cry, make coffee and mourn my childhood, do my job while mourning the indefinable something in me that died and is gone.
Who knew I had this talent for multitasking.
So I posted the following in a few places:
I told my friend Squirrel, and meant it...that he is beautiful...this after he said he was an irresponsible wreck with bad habits I'd be better off without.
He's a fellow survivor (of physical, emotional abuse, neglect, and sexual abuse as well). And my heart just broke open, I guess, because I can see he is beautiful...because I know all that he has lived through, the tragedy his life has been so far...and he keeps trying, he keeps living and hoping...and when the waterworks really started is when I realized that probably meant I was beautiful too...
I was this little girl made out of love and I was shattered inside. But I still try to live, I still love, I still trust though everything in me screams how dangerous it is. Maybe I'm beautiful too, because I fall down and get up again, a thousand times. Because I am in agony and I keep going, keep trying, keep wanting to love and help other people though I'm not very good at it, I'm not very good at anything, but maybe there's beauty in just the act of continuing to try.Maybe I am good and true and beautiful and precious even though I feel the absolute opposite.
Maybe we're all beautiful. Maybe we can all live again. No matter how badly it hurts to get there.