Do you remember? Remember the time before hurt or anxiety, little one? Was it before or after what must be part of the blockage that I put in motion well before I should have? Before I unwillingly summoned an entire spellbinding on myself so it wouldn’t hurt anymore. When the crickets outside still sang me to sleep. So, do you?
What were we before we became the product of perceptions? Perceptions that weren’t even of us, but of another? When did the day become “how much longer was it before we ate”, or how long we had before the scares of the night became heard once the day lost its light?
I need you to remember, solely because it wasn’t your fault little lamb, it never was.
She was the one with the gift for you. The one who needed to protect and nourish. She was also the one who failed to exhibit these attributes and passed along the wrath of darkness and loneliness instead. I am sorry that I cannot piece together the frames of playing toys or catching leaves in the fall. I do not recall dinners, dancing, or even colors left behind in these stitched-in patches of what seems to be a lifetime ago. I needed her guidance so that you would not need this once you turned into me. This is going to be a long journey my dear sweet self. This will hurt, and it will be full of trauma. Please do not think that this will be rainbows and butterflies. The colors will lose their shine, and the butterflies turn into cicadas while everything becomes louder each day. I need you to know that when you start to push them away and stay safe by isolating…it’s not your fault. There will be days full of sorrow that feel like months of escaping quicksand just to stay grounded. Days you lose yourself in the grief of what you did not deserve and balancing the edges of self-doubt and destruction from a belief that you did deserve it after all.
You didn’t deserve this. It wasn’t your fault.
The parts of your skin that make you wish could shed, to be able to cleanse yourself of the dirt they stained you with. I wish I could turn back time and put visions of drawings and grades on the refrigerator instead of past due bills and “I’ll be home later” notes left everywhere. I am sorry your childhood is gone, and it all turned black and white while you deserved the rainbows. The bruises, scars, and burns…they are your story. You prospered and gave your all. Through all the weaknesses and valleys of pure defeat, you dragged yourself through the trenches and piled all those stones and sticks they weighed you down with and you made an entire ladder to reach your higher self and see through the inherited version you believed you had become.
There will come a time when you start to remember fragments of fond memories that don’t burn through like lava, and you will be faced with the decision to honor them or block the images altogether any and every time they come along. The truth is the fondness of what was is more harmful than the acceptance of what is. What was, is what could have been and was taken, what is, is the reality of who and what you have turned into today?
When you flinch, it is not your fault. When you feel alone, you do Not deserve this. When you look down and still see the tar left behind from crawling your way out, remember…You are the one who forged the ladder, found the sword, and became the hero of all those stories you missed out on when it mattered. Please know that these doubts, nightmares, and wounds make you undefined. You are not of any guidelines or master’s any longer. This is because you find your voice. You find your light. You bloom from the darkness and reflect the universe in the light. You, little lamb…are made of Magick. The Stars and the moon will keep you safe, and the sounds of the crickets will help you sleep. You find your true colors only by finding yourself and becoming thankful for the pain. The darkness can no longer hold you in fear once you come to peace with the voids.