this past year.
So much of me has changed since this time last year. So much of me is gone.
So much has been healed, through intentional patchwork.
At this point last year - my entire world broke apart. I felt the most familiar parts of me disappear without warning.
All I saw in the mirror was uncertainty. Every emotion felt like riding a rickety old rollercoaster with no seatbelt.
Throughout the last year I made a whole bunch of decisions based on how distracting they’d be.
I opened myself to too many external perspectives on a very particular situation.
I would not have made it without those distractions and perspectives. I would not have healed without overcoming the want for answers. Not without growing past it like skin over stitches.
Some threads still feel loose- and I’m still mending.
Thank you to my mother, for teaching me to sew.
Back in 2019, I was unraveling at the seams for what felt like the millionth time. That fall I entered an Intensive Outpatient program at a psych facility.
I met some of the most fascinating people there. They came from all types of lives and backgrounds - each lugging secrets we were keeping from the world - but we had one central thing in common, one major thread keeping us together. Or I guess - we were actually a bunch of loose threads seeking mending before it all came undone.
One friend told me that when it came to losing special people or connections - that healing seems impossible because that space that once felt so full and unshakable, is left empty.
Suddenly so empty, the space becomes terrifying.
He told me how he healed the void of losing his mother - patchwork.
“Use the memories of all the special moments and pieces to save that space, while expanding and allowing room to foster new connections.”
I’ve thought of that advice in a new light over the past year.
How does patchwork healing work when you’re angry?
It can feel impossible to revisit the special things and not hold resentment.
It can make other threads unravel.
It can rip a bigger hole.
So this past year, I tore apart at the seams, again.
I needed to rip open after what happened. I needed to dig into the darkest parts and tear out the toxicity of the past three and a half years. I needed to gut myself from the inside out to prevent my foundation from rotting.
I was trying to prevent this rip, all those years ago. But instead, I pulled the heavy curtains shut. The only light I allowed in was a dingy neon sign- attractive only to demons.
Though there were missteps, I do not blame myself for what I did to heal.
In all this time, I only blame myself for one thing. I only regret putting others before myself.
I had put you first so many times before.
I regret not speaking up back in 2020. I regret letting others feelings matter more than mine - in a trauma that was mine.
Until last year, I only spoke about it in whispers. I told only those who I felt would respect the decision I thought I had made in confidence. But it wasn’t a confident decision, it was a trauma response. I can see that now.
In 2020, I should’ve put it on record.
I should’ve called the cops when I found the camera he hid in my bathroom.
We both should’ve known then that he wouldn’t stop there.
