We are more than the dust of others

We are more than the dust of others.....

Oh  how I know that desire SO strong! ( The one where you want to spend the day in the blankets.) And in the blankets all those voices can fly at you and they are loud, so loud and you just push yourself deeper into the covers trying to hide from them, but really it is more of a burial than a protective covering, because you suffocate there, in your head. And it is so hard for the light to break through and you don't even know right then if you want it to, because it seems too bright.  And you fear it will expose the parts of you that you are trying to hide.  The parts that make you bad, defective, less than, worse than, unworthy of, unlovable, usable, hurtable, hurtful, bruised.

And in that place, that time, that moment, that cotton coffin is the only place you know how to exist in, because suffocating as it is, it still feels safe.  You can't hurt anyone, nor be hurt.  Your inaction feels the most responsible reaction.  You can't be destructive if you remain hidden, buried. You are safe from the world and the world is safe from you.  And you wish that death would come for you right then, so it would be done and you could be done.  And everything feels like it is too much and you are too much mess to ever be cleaned, because you feel that all you are is dirt.    And it feels like no one understands.  That they think you selfish or crazy, because you don't know how to navigate this hurtful world.  They don't understand how the hurts compound and how you feel as though you only magnify the hurting.  They don't understand that you just want to stop the hurt, you want to stop your hurt from hurting others.  They don't understand how all consuming the darkness is and how death does not feel so much as an easy way out but as an ONLY way out. 

Please know that I GET THIS!  I SO get this!  But I know that cotton coffin lids can be lifted and they don't have to be turned into stone grave markers.  I know this.  I know how hard and sharp and painful it all can be.  I don't think you crazy, I don't think you selfish.  I think you wounded, but wounds can be healed.  I don't think you dirty.  I think you dusty, because the dirt of others sin has blown up against you.  You are worthy of more so much more.  You are more than the dust of others that you have mistaken as your own skin.  You are good, even when your choices aren't.  The light is bright.  I know it takes adjusting to, but it doesn't illuminate those things that make you want to hide.  Those are the shadows, not the realities.  The light shines in and the shadows fade so that you can see the good things that the darkness hides.  That light you fear so much Oh that light you are blinking in, it makes you sparkle.  It reflects off of those things that are good in you and magnifies their brightness.  Things like STRENGTH, WORTH, TALENT, LOVE, COMPASSION.  And when those shine all the shadows shrink. 

I know this, because I know you.  I am you.  And if no one else speaks these truths to you I will.  I will speak this truth to myself, too.  I am more than the dust of others.  We are more than the dust of others.  That dirt that covers us is not our skin. 

Linking with Emily and the Imperfect Prose Community
   

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