you & me

A Girl Who Learned to Save Herself.

{source: Jennifer Maroney}

{source: Jennifer Maroney}

 

Sometimes, I wish you’d hit me.

I wish you’d help me give this pain a name.

I wish you’d use your body instead of your words

And give me a hand to place the blame.

Sometimes, I wish you’d rip the rug from beneath me.

Leave me staring up at the sky

Back to the ground, face to the stars,

Flowers could bloom from the tears I’ve cried.

Sometimes, I wish you’d grasp my heart

within the fists you clench so tight

Into a slumber I’d fall, finally escaping the moon,

I’ll meet you in the daylight.

Sometimes I wish you’d suck the air

Straight from the lungs I breathe,

Giving me a reason to gasp, a reason to gulp,

Give me a reason not to leave.

Sometimes I wish you’d use your hands

to clasp my wounded neck

your words, like ropes, draw me into the clouds,

until clouds are all that’s left.

Sometimes I wish you’d steal my eyes

Finally giving me the clarity

To understand why I don’t recognize the face

Staring in the mirror right back at me

{source: Giulia Marangoni}

{source: Giulia Marangoni}

 

The first time I came across this poem, I had to reread it a few times before confirming that these words even belonged to me.

When I wrote it, I wasn’t the same person that I am today. When I wrote it, I was someone that I hope I never meet again.

It’s amazing how much you can lose yourself in the arms of another — in a warm embrace, or in a cold restraint.

I always used to pride myself on my ability to remain independent while in a relationship. I scoffed at women that settled for less than they deserved and couldn’t ever understand how some people remained in relationships for so long and continuously put up with way more than they should. I spent my days building walls around my heart, never letting anyone get too close.

And then I let someone get too close.

Not long after that, my relationship swallowed me whole until there was nothing left. I kicked and shoved and tried to make my way to the surface, but one day I surrendered, I simply couldn’t fight it anymore.

It was in that moment that these words were born.

These words came from a place so deep within me, a place that is darker than the blackest skies and colder than the frost that lingers atop blades of grass on a frozen winter morning. A place that makes me shudder just thinking about it.

I remember the first time I uttered those six words, in the middle of another losing battle, clinging to even the slightest glimmer of hope that what I believed in my mind to be true might still exist.

“Sometimes I wish you’d hit me.”

Never in a million years would I have guessed that I’d say that to someone. I thought that situations like this only happened in movies, soap operas, and trashy rap songs.

I think that this was the moment that I realized just how far I had slipped. My family members had made comments, close friends had tried to intervene, but it wasn’t until the exact moment that this foreign person trapped inside of me actually spoke that I realized I had transformed into someone completely unrecognizable, even to myself.

Especially to myself.

I wish I could say that this aha moment changed everything, and I walked away that day and never looked back, but those kind of endings only happen in the fairly tales.

Life is far from a fairy tale, but, in my opinion, life is so much better.

This isn’t a story about a knight in shining armor, riding in on a noble steed to save the day.

This isn’t a story about an unexpected twist of fate with dragons and fireworks and trumpets playing as the credits roll.

This is the story about a girl who learned to save herself.

This is the story about making mistake after mistake after mistake, and learning to forgive yourself anyway.

This is a story about finding the beauty in loss, the hope in heartbreak, and the good in goodbye.

This is the story about an unrecognizable victim, and the proud survivor that she became.

I’m happy to say that I’m no longer the girl that wrote those words on the tear-stained piece of notebook paper late one Friday night. I thought about burning that poem and all of the memories hidden between the lines on the page, but I soon realized that I’m proud of the lines that trace haunted memories, and I’m even proud of the words lingering in between.

I might not be proud of where I used to be, but I’m sure proud of where I ended up.

I’m not proud to say I was the girl that uttered those six words aloud, but boy, am I ever proud to tell you that while that girl is no longer with us,

I am the woman that she became.

***

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Macaile Hutt

Macaile Hutt

Macaile Hutt believes the best perfume is Idaho mountain air, the deepest laugh often comes from the mouth of a child, and coffee is the answer no matter the question. She has had to learn the hard way that some words ache until they are said. Find your voice and let it be heard. Macaile would like you to join her on Facebook or her website, as you take your own heart and live this beautiful life in search of perfect moments in such a way that every moment becomes perfect.
Macaile Hutt
Macaile Hutt