Letting go

The most difficult part about letting go is precisely that - just letting go.

You're almost there. You've done everything you've had to do, to deviate from the past and move on. You've become a whole lot more spiritual over the months, confiding in God. You've set some distance between yourself and the people who've hurt you, the ones who broke your heart. And you've finally reconciled with them, albeit conventionally. Time had taken it's toll and although you're no longer whole as you once were, the sutures between the broken pieces are finally closing in and you're almost alright again. Just almost.

And then it comes.

Thoughts. Words. Rumors going about, giving you a glimpse of something contrary to what you've striven to achieve so far. You hear them talk about the presence of a brand new persona, and the seams around your heart begin to loosen. You've held it in, you've buried it in the ground and now it threatens to surface once more. You pick up your needle and thread, quickly holding up your fragile heart and attempt to patch up the loose ends. As you create miniature piercings on your heart with the needle, something leaks. It begins like a subtle tune, and then it becomes a song. Soon it flows, and memories, both good and bad pour out. You panic and accidentally drop your heart on the ground - partially stitched, partially open. You watch it lie pathetically on the ground, but resort to pick it up again. Is it still beating? Is it still alive?

Or is it on the verge of self-destruction, dying as it withholds the heavy sewing it was subjected to?

And then the tears roll down your cheek. You begin to ask yourself, "What have I done?" You cry out, begging for mercy, asking for a brand new heart. You just want to forget, and start all over. How will you ever restore it to it's original condition? You don't want the world to see you like this. You curse yourself for letting the memories burst out at the seams, although you aren't entirely to blame. But you know the world is cruel, it will not change your circumstances to suit your current state of having no composure.

You'll have to adapt.

So you go back to Step 1 and begin the same process all over again. You isolate yourself. You avoid silence in public, but delve in it completely in private. You rely on God all over again to provide you with strength, with wisdom. And you continually remind yourself that it is over, and that whatever surfaces is irrelevant - just a fragment of your subconscious mind poking humor at you. You dismiss thoughts, replace them and distract yourself with everything else. And you try to move on. Soon enougn, you regain composure. You reconcile with time, and your heart seems alright.

But you know it isn't the end. Something will strike you, and render you to succumb to misery all over again. And the next thing you know, it's rinse and repeat. Will you ever escape this cycle?

However, this time you recognize it, and that you try to fight back. You try as hard as you can to retaliate. The chances are slim, but you do it anyway. You might lose the battle, but you know you'll eventually win the war. You know you're more than this, more than flesh and bone and they try to kill you from the inside.

But as long as you fight - as long as you don't give in, you haven't lost. Just because you're losing, it doesn't mean you've lost. And you persevere.