The Mess of A Journey

Today I let myself cry for everything that happened.

For what it really was. 

Without trying to give excuses to behavior and actions. 

Without feeling like I was being dramatic. 

I cried for the pain. I cried for the grief. I cried for real. 

I cried for all of the times that I tried to tell myself "at least"

I didn't try to be perfect. But I did feel insecure in my tears.

Because for years I have tried to cover a wall of ugly wall paper with pretty things and distracting things and lots of things in general to try to forget the wallpaper exists. Or to at least try to act like the wallpaper doesn't mean as much as it feels like it does sometimes.

But it still peeks through.

Healing hurts. And it is a mess.

But it is hopeful. 

Soon new wallpaper will go up -- on a different wall -- in a different place and I won't feel like I need to cover anything anymore.