I don’t think it will ever be “fully” healed (although it got a lot better once I was able to stop picking at it). That’s okay, though; I have a pretty big heart. There’s room on there for lots of scars.
…and for some reason, saying it like that makes me want to get another? I guess it’s like getting a tattoo: once your first has healed, you immediately start thinking about your next one. Or maybe it’s just another way grief is like exercise: sometimes it’s addictive!
I think that’s okay, too. Remember, grief itself isn’t a bad thing: it’s just your mind’s immune system working to heal the sort of hurt you get when you lose something important. You can’t get that kind of hurt unless you let yourself be vulnerable in the first place; let something outside yourself reach in deep and grab hold. To never grieve would mean you’d never fully loved.
I’m proud of myself for being vulnerable, it felt good to open up, and even though it ended badly this time I still want to do it again.
I’m doing a major rewrite of that poem I mentioned a while back–some of the things I wanted to say then aren’t true anymore, and there are things I want to say now that didn’t need saying then–but once it’s finished, I think I’ll finally be ready to post it.
I suppose I’ve grown.
In Search of Secrets 