The birds are beginning to grace my mornings again with their song. The light finally reaches things. I emerge from an eternal winter. Some people have winters that can last for years. Today I am writing to you, to you, lurking in the shadows, part of me that I have rejected for so long. I write to you from this nest built over the years with twigs of sadness, tears of clay, thundering stones; a nest and its possible longevity.
I know now that you will not leave me, that you are there as a sentinel to protect me from what otherwise could hurt me again. You’re a borderline personality disorder envoy.
You were born with my first feeling of abandonment. My distress pulled you out of your dream. You wondered why you had been saddled with this heavy task of always showing your teeth, of tearing happiness’s longevity away. You wondered why the membrane of your heart was so thick.
You trained for hurricane strength in order to separate me from those I loved. For you, if I was alone, I wouldn’t be hurt. You knew that love can hurt most of the time. I believed you, leaving many promising relationships.
Now I know your name and your origin. I understand that your confidence has been eroded since one day, a first love spaced out our calls on the pretext that he was with friends before never giving another sign of life, one day a man took advantage of my numbness to take advantage of my body without my consent, another day, a man made me believe that I was the one he loved and then went back to his ex-girlfriend. Another day, it was a mythomaniac man who had lied to me all along, even down to his last name.
The towers built in their name crumbled at the snap of a finger, as did my trust, and it left you speechless. Since then, the systematic mistrust of quiet lakes; you convinced yourself that you had to constantly be hypervigilant in order to be ready to run.
I would have had to learn to love myself first, a very daunting task when you think that our value is associated with the tragic things that have happened to us.
Today you watch me love. I’m still a little rigid, however, my clenched fists have become outstretched hands.
To rebel is to still love despite what’s happened to us, to tell myself, my jump will be higher than this wall, and I’ll finally see what’s on the other side because tears don’t belong only sadness. Look, I let myself be loved by a man and I don’t find it strange. Finally, you realize that not everyone has bad intentions. You think of the natural order of things, of the flowers just waiting to make their way through the earth and then a way towards the light.
These achievements would not be possible without my sobriety. You agree to no longer have oil to fuel your fire. In exchange, I accept that, like a wound that has become a scar that marks the skin, you stay here with me, in this great adventure that is life. We are together, not in fate, but in an opportunity of birth.
I had to swim in the mud of dozens of meetings with therapists, each teaching me in their own way the language of silence. I had to dig with my child’s hands, to find this original cry lodged where the amethysts are born, where the murmur of the obsidians exists.
You shiver on the other side of the moon, I bring you my warmth. I have love for you. You are not an antagonist. I love us. By holding your hand, those moments of letting myself down come to an end. I understand that it is more beneficial to trust in the future than to fear that the past will return, and that is the most beautiful present one can afford.