Some days, such as today, beat me to a pulp. I feel fractured, bruised, lacerated, flayed wide open with salt in the wounds. On days such as these, I find myself reading my own writings, and oddly, taking strength from the words as if they were written by a stranger but written specifically for me. As if a stranger from my future and past has written words of encouragement to guide me through days such as today. I know that today was self inflicted, it was of my own doing, and left havoc in the wake. I know that I am the one who damaged, hurt, betrayed. It was not intended. Not planned. Poorly executed. I accept the blame and wear it like a hair cloak, a cilice, my guilt. It is never my intent to do harm, one of the mores of my beliefs is, "Harm None." And I try, I do. I try with all my heart, which is why my failure is all the more painful and shameful. No, there was no evil intent, no desire to inflict pain and suffering, but I must take responsibility for my actions, deeds, words. And I do. I accept responsibility. It is on me. Mine. I claim it.
And so I read my own words back to myself. Roll them around in my skull. Take some measure of comfort from the stranger in my future/past who was wise enough to assemble letters into words into understandable phrases into life lessons. I try to gather some strength to send out a prayer of healing, though I am sure it will fall short, and fall on deaf ears. I must glean a measure of power from the future/past stranger and resist the urge to crawl into my shell, hibernate, hide until spring when I can uncurl slowly like a seedling seeking the warmth of the sun.
I read my words. Tales of tragedy, triumph, Mania, Melancholy, elation, deflation. Tales that are mine. Stories I understand. Parables with meaning. The Saga of life, My Life. The words support me, shore up my flagging spirits, bolster my courage, ease my torment. I am glad of my future/past stranger and what she has done, will do for me. She keeps me upright and moving forward, or at least upright and not sliding back. I do still feel the cool air that rises from the abyss. I know of its existence. But I also know that I will not revisit that darkness. That is past, and written, to be remembered, but not dwelled upon. I am stronger than I was, stronger than I have ever been. I know my strength, my energy, my power. I know that even alone, I am strength personified. I do not fear the abyss, the darkness. My future/past stranger is my light, showing the way ahead by revealing the past. I understand her words. I understand me.