I received a book by Iyanla Vanzant from a dear friend. I've been attempting to finish it or at least go beyond the poem. I never succeeded. The poem described everything I was feeling. I always end up crying before I make it halfway. And then flashbacks. And then the hurting.
Yesterday, I cried.
I came home, went straight to my room,
sat on the edge of my bed,
kicked off my shoes, unhooked my bra,
and I had myself a good cry.
I cried until my nose was running all over the silk blouse I got on sale.
I cried until my ears were hot.
I cried until my head was hurting so bad
that I could hardly see the pile of soiled tissues lying on the floor at my feet.
I want you to understand,
I had myself a really good cry yesterday.
It was in 2007 when I was at my lowest. And as I thought I couldn't go any lower, I was bombarded with more heart crushing trials.
for all the days that I was too busy,
or too tired, or too mad to cry.
I cried for all the days, and all the ways,
and all the times I had dishonored, disrespected,
and disconnected my Self from myself,
only to have it reflected back to me in the ways others
did to me the same things I had already done to myself.
I cried for all the things I had given, only to have them stolen;
for all the things I had asked for that had yet to show up;
for all the things I had accomplished, only to give them away,
to people in circumstances, which left me feeling empty,
and battered and plain old used.
I cried because there really does come a time when
the only thing left for you to do is cry.
I felt so alone and misunderstood and that life was so unfair. And it was hard to accept because I believed I don't deserve it.
I cried because little boys get left by their daddies;
and little girls get forgotten by their mommies;
and daddies don't know what to do, so they leave;
and mommies get left, so they get mad.
I cried because I had a little boy,
and because I was a little girl,
and because I was a mommy who didn't know what to do,
and because I wanted my daddy to be there so badly until I ached.
And I felt sad for whatever was happening to people I do not know and to almost anything.
I cried because I hurt. I cried because I was hurt.
I cried because hurt has no place to go
except deeper into the pain that caused it in the first place,
and when it gets there, the hurt wakes you up.
I cried because it was too late.
I cried because it was time.
I cried because my soul knew that I didn't know
that my soul knew everything that I needed to know.
I cried a soulful cry yesterday, and it felt so good.
It felt so very, very bad.
In the midst of my crying,
I felt my freedom coming,
Because...
And there were times I was scheming for the easiest way out. Because I couldn't take it anymore. But I was so incapable of hurting myself. Until I found freedom in sleeping. Oversleeping.
with an agenda.
And then I realized I had to do something. I want to do something. I have to be in control.
I woke up one day feeling determined. I'm done wound licking. I must reclaim the old me. And then work on an improved me.
I had my one last cry for all those past hurts. And then I buried them.
I may cry again. But not about the past drama.
I'll have more tears shed because of triumphs.
I may cry again. But not about the past drama.
I'll have more tears shed because of triumphs.