Not Everyone Will Understand

Last night I learned a valuable lesson: not everyone will understand. They will hear how you died and it will scare them. This fearful confusion will affect them in a variety of ways, some obvious, some just far enough under the surface to go undetected. And for those people who don't understand- don't want to understand- I will change. In their eyes I will never look the same again.

At first there will be silence. A furrowed brow. A look of pity, concern, maybe disgust. And then, judging by their line of questioning, it will go one of two ways. They will either begin to look at me like I'm irreparably broken or like there must be something seriously wrong with me. I'm either too deeply wounded or was part of the problem. It'll be too much. Too soon. Too scary.

I could hide it, that's always been an option. Sometimes I trick myself into believing that it would be better if I did. If I exposed only just enough to keep our images safe and the inquisitor satisfied with answers, I would never have to watch myself change in the eyes of others. Look as a switch flicks, the sparkle fades, I dim. I'd never have to experience being written off by the people who don't understand- don't want to understand.

But in my heart I know that although not everyone will understand, some will try. Some will see what happened as it was, you as you were, and me as I am now. They will know that these are three distinct things that are all intertwined, but not inextricably so. Each aspect weaves into one another, lending fibers and adding texture. And even though who I am is decorated by you and what happened, I am still me in my own right. A little much, a little soon, a little scary, but no less sparkly.