Of all the things I’ve left behind, the sense of another human understanding me is what I miss the most. I ache for it. I struggle to fathom how I didn’t appreciate it, why I didn’t fight harder to secure it. I have so much to be thankful for, yet this hollow hole in my very being rattles and demands acknowledgement.
It’s still something I struggle to explain. It defies logic and goes against everything I (don’t) believe. A connection like lightning straight to our brains. As Hedwig says “I could swear by your expression, that the pain down in your soul was the same as the one down in mine”. The blind, ultra-focused younger me couldn’t possible place a value on this.
Regret is a road I dread to travel down. Yet the questions can pelt me if I dare set a foot out the door. Why was it so impossible to be less selfish? To grow up a little? How could I miss that I had a one in a million gift?
My consolation prize, wisdom, tells me that what is easy now was likely impossible then. It tells me that while I crave the connection like a shriveled plant craves water, if I had it I would surely want for something else as painfully. Humanity isn’t customizable, you can simply chose the perks in the least offensive package available.
My brain has a terrible habit for ruminating. Despite more background in mental health than almost anyone I can’t shake it. I see my faulty coping as if I’m in a glass bottom boat over sharks. And still I willfully jump in, hell bent on some catharsis.
I always said I was just like you.
You said in that case no one wins.
Things went south and down and then back through.
We couldn’t let go for the might-have-beens.
The things I’ve said make me the queen of spin.
My gaslight anthem well written for the pain.
I’m grateful that we don’t believe in sin.
It was honestly the best gift I ever gave you.
All I did to hurt you set you free.
In my remarkable brilliance I saved you.
The best part is I thought I was saving me.
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