Once

I had a story once. A long time ago when life was fresh and unscathed from the numerous things that have since left me with this unbounded, unprecedented feeling of being damaged. I’ve often looked back in an attempt to gauge where, exactly I tripped. Where did I make a misstep so seemingly small in the moment that has left me in a free-fall ever since--searching for a lifeline that had, over time, ceased to exist? When? Where? Why? How? These are questions that plague me.


I had a parachute once. Not so long ago when I thought I was figuring things out. When I began to think of myself as less damaged and more of a beautiful disaster. I had wonderful friends, an amazing family, a life I was so content in living. I was learning. I was growing. I was changing. But, I wasn’t moving on. I wasn’t truly believing the lovely ideologies I was writing about- at least not for myself. All of that wonderlust was for other people. I was different. I was trying really, really hard to believe otherwise. But, in my heart, I was still unworthy.

I had this guy once. Just a little while ago. We spoke in the wee hours of the morning as the world – our world- slept around us. I fancied his laugh. He complimented my accent. We splashed in the ocean. He wet my dress. He kissed me when I least expected it. He held me close. He chased my fears. He let me in to see he wasn’t perfect- he had fears of his own. I learned to trust and he disassembled walls I never knew I’d built. He saw in me things I never saw within myself. He made me question. He made me think. He challenged me. He didn’t just accept my excuses and feed me lines to placate my senses. He never asked me to be anything I wasn’t already, just to always be the best version of me. I loved him. But, he was damaged too, and sometimes despite love…things just don’t work out.

I had a heart once- a whole one. The timeframe comes and goes. It varies depending on the day, the hour, the moment you ask me. Yet, the catalyst of it all remains undetermined. Yes, I miss him. Yes, it’s killing me. But, there’s so much more that predates him. I could never be the best version of me if I didn’t know who I was in the first place. I couldn’t do what made me happy if I was only ever doing what I thought I was supposed to do. I could never believe I was not damaged if I was merely relying on affirmation of this from others, putting all of my self-worth in their hands-all of it- with nothing left for myself.

I knew who I was once. At I time I don’t remember, but feel it to be true. I had an identity all my own and a heart that knew no meaning of broken. I believed life was limited only by the boundaries I put on myself. I danced, I sang, I skipped, I laughed, I ran, I was zany, I wore what I wanted, and I never cared what anyone else said. When did I stumble? Where did I fall? Why didn’t I pull the chord? How do I learn to fly? When? Where? Why? How? These are questions that plague my life.