I’ve been wrestling with my demons over this again recently and these are the thoughts that I could grab hold of tightly enough to scribble down…
Who Am I?
Am I… Kind? Loving? Funny? Loyal?
I’d like to say yes… but does it show? Can you see it? Can I show the world what is in this poor old heart of mine?
Just my rage and fury?
When I am the rage monster I whirl and twirl and burn the world around me. My hurt and pain spin around me like the fires of hell. I’m dancing with my demons and all we want to do is burn, burn, burn.
My anxious heart beats, beats. The blood in my veins is fire. It consumes. I feel powerful and free. The rage inside finds its way out and
I could light the world on fire when I am angry and happily burn myself right along with it.
But the fire never lasts. When I’ve stopped spinning, when I’m standing on the shattered pile of everything I have broken, what do I have left? Who am I then?
Breathe in, breathe out.
Look around. I’ve burned it all down, but I’m not rising like the powerful dragon I imagined I was. I’m standing here alone like a god damn fool. I haven’t set the world on fire. I’ve only hurt myself.
Who am I now?
Who am I when that anger turns inwards?
When all I can hear is my own voice lying in my ear…
Who am I when she whispers, whispers, whispers. She’s the hardest to escape. Is she me?
Is she me when she tells me everything I’m afraid of?
My own voice telling me I’m awful, ugly, unwanted, broken, useless, cruel.
Who am I when she tells me I’m no good, not worth all this effort, all this fuss. That my own children would be better of without me, that my husband would be happier…
Oh, how she lies, that voice of mine. Lies and lies and lies until it starts to sound like truth.
Until the only thing that will make her just SHUT UP is that cool blade across my skin.
Yet even then, still she whispers…
Coward, coward, coward. Deeper, deeper, deeper.
But I never can, because maybe she’s right. Maybe I am a coward.
Who am I now? When all I have left is trembling bones in the aftermath of her attack, my hands full of blood and an aching, sorry heart.
Who am I when she’s silent?
I am alone in the sudden quiet. Even more lost than before.
Who am I now?
I am a woman who made a promise to myself not to do it again.
I am keeping that promise I made. I am working my therapy. Working, working, working to be ok. I’m holding myself tight, keeping my head above water.
I am my own best friend and my own worst enemy. I’m one year down with no cutting, now I’m two…
I’m waltzing with my demons and I’m winning.
Who am I now?
After all of this fucking work and effort and trying and failing. After all of this falling down and getting back up again. Who do I see when I look in the mirror?
Who am I?
I am… that girl who flirted so closely with death, who thinks too much about the nothing. Who can almost hear the eternal quiet ringing in her ears. Forever peaceful, almost free.
I am… the dragon inside who roars. That fire breather who defends me from the body blows. I am the one who knows that sometimes only the loudest scream can soothe that old familiar heart ache. I am the roar. I am the quiet afterwards.
I am… growing with all my pain. I am taking it with me. I am still here living. Still searching. Fixing my mistakes. Forgiving and loving and learning to move forward.
I am… the mother that loves with her whole heart, who is trying my dears, always always trying.
I am… the wife that would hold up the universe just so my beautiful husband could stretch his arms wide, wide, wide enough to dance.
I am… the little girl who only ever wanted to see the beauty of the world. I am the woman whose heart broke when she saw the world had wounds she couldn’t love hard enough to fix.
I am the child, I am the mother.
I am human.
I bleed, I fight, I get angry, I get calm.
I am wrong, I am right, I am broken, I am mended.
I am all of them and none of them.
I’m still trying.
I am here.