12.12.16

I sat there, eyes on my computer screen but mind elsewhere, lost in the grey clouds of my thoughts. My thoughts in the past, the memories, the pain, the hurt. My emotional wounds were old, deep-red cuts that had been left open, open to fester, open to rot. Everyday, I would look at them, examine them as a doctor would to a patient, and count off the months to myself, in a logical, methodical manner. Yet as the clocks ticked and the days passed, it would become harder and harder to bring myself to face the reality of it all.

It has been three, four, going on five months now, I would tell myself. It’s time to move on. Why are you still like this? My own thoughts would bounce around within my head.

I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. I would continually tell myself. But I knew why. The mind had come to terms with the severity of the wound, but the heart had not yet. The logical brain had accepted reality much more quickly than the old heart; after all, it only made sense to heal and move on. Yet, the darkened heart, battered, older in experiences than in years, had a will of its own. My heart would control the healing, but it was not ready yet. And the heart cannot be willed, no matter how many times the mind has prodded, pleaded, and begged it.

It had been like this for a while now, so long to the point that my mind had stopped keeping count. I had even began contemplating the possibility that it may never heal, that the wound would remain open, that it would not ever heal. And yet, how desperately did my mind want it to heal. The wound was such a great burden to me, one shift and tears threatened to spill out of my eyes, one word and the heart would flare up in anger, would entrench itself in sadness, and would wrench out bitterness. But the wound was large, deep, and months had gone on with no progress.

The ongoing battles between my mind and heart continued. And at the end of the day, the heart won, and the terrible pain remained.

And yet. 12.12.16.

I sat there, eyes on the computer screen but mind elsewhere, lost in the grey clouds of my thoughts, examining the wound and preparing again myself for the internal battle that would ensue. The onslaught began, rising up as it usually would. But then something changed. A new voice, a voice, gentle, meek, but powerfully quiet, a voice whose reverberating sound left an imprint upon my very heart itself.

You deserved better.

And it was then that I finally realized, I did.

And then, my wounds began to heal.

That was my lightbulb moment. I hope that you, in whatever you are dealing with, will experience it someday too.