Why does writing in my own language burden me? Is it because it reminds me of who I am? Is it because the words in that foreign language don’t carry the emotional connection that I’ve attached to them in my mother tongue? Or is it because I’m ashamed of taking accountability for all my feelings? Maybe it’s all of the above.
I noticed I need to stop engaging in many acts of self-harm. But will words help me cope? I started talking to myself, knowing that I hate the feeling of being a burden to other people. Do they get tired of my rambling? Do they want to shove their fists down my throat to silence me? Though it’s not their fault at all, I hope they won’t shut my mouth for it.
I read somewhere that healing is a constant process that works differently for everyone. At one point, you have to crash and experience the emotions, babbling about it until you aware how stupid it is and how weary you are of talking about it. You also have to remember that you are not responsible for other people’s actions and what they did to you. Yes, it isn’t right. But trying to reason through every single thing they did will genuinely drive you to madness. I don’t know. At this point, writing it down might be my way of convincing myself as well.
I don’t know if I’m okay or if I’ll ever heal from this mental grief. 9,496 days is not a short time. Yet it’s not enough time for me to heal. I just want everything to leave my mind for a while. Will it help? Frankly, I don’t know. Would I trade all the blessings I have right now to make it happen? Without any doubt.