There's this thing about pain. It's addicting and it wears clothes that makes it look like love. I know. Even pain fills out the lonely pockets, tears are better than nothing right? At least you're feeling something. Even it's raw and twisting, pain lets you know that you're still there. Within an inch of your own death, you're just glad to be feeling something.
Being mad at him means he's still there. For a while you think you're glorifying his presence, but really you're lighting fireworks for the pain. You welcome it home with open arms. You throw a party for your own suicide.
It's like a gunshot. It burns and stays stuck in a piece of flesh you never even paid attention to before. At first you're in shock; the warm feeling, the leaking feeling - it gets your attention. Seeing your fingers covered in blood makes you queasy. You rub it to make sure you're not imagining things. You realize that it's real. You're hurt. You're wounded and you need help. But that can take a few days, weeks even, maybe months. Some of you let the bullet stay there and rot inside of you. By then, the pain becomes normal. That twinge, the twisting, the discomfort - that becomes part of your routine. You forget what a day without pain is like. You are in a constant state of distress. It makes you cranky. You're not your usual beautiful self because you're uncomfortable; because you spend so much time pretending that you're ok that you can't be anything else.
Healing seems impossible. The thought of it seems like a mountain you're not strong enough to climb, not with the wounds you have, not with the kind of pain you endure daily. Healing is beyond the statute of your limitations.
The first step is to take the bullet out. Open the wound and remove the obstruction. It will be messy, you will lose parts of yourself - blood, flesh, and maybe some confidence. It will humble you. Put the tattered pieces of metal in a safe place, probably somewhere you don't have to see it every day. You will come back to it later, trust me. It's not over though. Not only do you have to remove the bullet, you have to remove yourself from the path of those inflicting things. Think back to where you got shot. Seriously, close your eyes and recall the day you got hit. Smell the air, look down at your feet, feel the air flow across the back of your neck, listen to the sounds of voices in passing cars and dribbling basketballs. Do you remember what you were wearing? Do you remember the way you styled your hair? Think about it up until the second you got shot, then open your eyes. Look at yourself in the mirror and promise yourself that you will not return to that place without an armor. Do not go back until you're strong enough to be an opponent and not just a victim.
In the meantime, start the healing. And I don't want to lie to you. The healing is harder to deal with than the actual thing you're healing from. The healing is harder to deal with than the actual thing you're healing from. The healing is harder to deal with than the actual thing you're healing from. It's hard to walk again. Teaching yourself to do the very things you've taken for granted is not easy. It's discouraging and sometimes you just want to quit. Being in pain will seem easier than being productive. But the truth is, and it's a hard truth - pain and joy cannot occupy the same house. So make a decision, do you want to endure pain or create joy? Do you want to live with what happened to you or truly overcome it? Stop seeking reprimand from the person who pulled the trigger. There's no justice like joy.
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