I wonder if you ever hear me. Do you sense my late night thoughts? I try to talk to the moon, but I sometimes I secretly hope the moonbeams will travel to you and you’ll hear my one-sided conversations. I hope you hear the tears that you cause me, the hurt, and the pain that sometimes infiltrates my soul. I hope you feel it just as intensely. I hope you understand your role in that. But I also hope you hear my joy and my laughter. I hope you understand that you have no role in that and that despite what you did, I can still find joy and laughter and strength. I hope you hear me telling my story, I hope you notice how each time I tell it, my voice quivers a little less. My body not shaking nearly as much.
Sometimes I think I’ll find some sort of strength from telling my story. A lot of the time it leaves me exhausted. Fighting to find some word or phrase to summarize how I feel is difficult. I’d like to use phrases like “come to terms,” “learned to cope,” or ” have gotten over.” But those are not the phrase that come. The only word that comes is “please.”