Facing this pain
My heart hurts. I’m picturing my heart in a puddle of red. My kid-self, hunched over with her face in her knees, has new and fresh wounds. She just took a beating and has nowhere to go for comfort. She’s scared. And shaking. And can do nothing but cry and shake. She feels cold. She’s dirty. Her wounds are fresh and they hurt. She’s almost dead. She lays on her side in a fetal position, with her back against the wall. And just hugs herself because it’s the only relief she can find. This new pain and these new wounds were caused by myself. I let my hope rise and didn’t care for my heart along the way. I didn’t listen to what she was saying. I didn’t see her hurt. I didn’t even know I took a baseball bat to her until it was over. Until I felt the pain too. I need to figure out why I’m so hell-bent on hurting her. Why I am so angry with her that she can’t just get well on her own. Why she isn’t healed yet. All I can think of is neglect. I’m leaving her alone in this cold dark room and not coming in to check on her without also delivering a fresh wound. How do I learn to look at her with compassion again?