Dark, foreboding starless nights where I wander in my mind alone and afraid from the relative safety of my own bed trap me in the terror of the unknown, the unforgiven, the unloved. And as I writhe in the agonized horror of that deepest fear, the place I hide even from myself, the place that naming somehow gives sway over me, I whisper now to you: am I worthy of love at all?
Oh, the things I have witnessed and not raised my hand to stop, the words I have used to shred others, the times I could have loved but chose not to do so. How different would I like to have lived my life given a second chance. But would I really? Probably not, because, as I am well aware, our experiences make us who we are. Continue reading
The Unexpected Life 