There is a story I’ve started that I will someday publish
about three girls. The first girl is named Muse. She is motherly and caring and
capable of keeping them together. The second girl is Chrystal. She is strong and
stable, mastering discipline and self-control. The final girl is Kida, her name
means warrior. She has lost who she is, or if she ever was. She must learn how
to live again. They are all very different but not one can exist without the
other.
Because each one of them is me. I am the first girl, the one
who loves like a mother and cares for everyone she meets. I am the second girl,
the one who is a leader and a protector. I am stronger than I look and wiser
than my age. Lastly I am the third girl, I have lost myself, everything I used
to be is now gone.
I have forgotten how to be me.
The first girl will have to teach the other girls how to be
a family. The second will have to learn how to lead them. The third will have
to find a new person to be, because she had her old identity ripped from her.
These are all struggles I have to go through; I will be a mother to the broken,
a leader to the lost, and a new being in Christ.
But don’t forget that even though I am the mother and a
leader I am still trying to find what was stolen from me. My identity was taken
from me in the form of an abusive relationship and a broken home. I am a mother
to my own mother, do you think I could come away from that unscathed? I cannot
clean my home, I cannot brush my teeth, I cannot remember who I am!
My depression comes from brokenness and sadness but it also
comes from making myself again from scratch. I have to learn basic tasks again
as if they were never taught to me before. I have to force myself to breathe on
occasion.
And at times it feels like you’re all talking at once. All telling me
something I have to do, someone I have to be, and some expectation that you pushed upon me and it ends up that I am in a whirlwind of
emotions; a hurricane of words all crashing around me and I’m scared and
confused and frustrated and suffocated and all I can do is scream because maybe
if I’m loud enough the words will stop and I can just-
Think.
Just let me think.
The dishes will get done. My homework will be finished. And
I will talk to you eventually. Soon. When I’ve had a chance to think. But for
now.
Just let me.
Think.
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