The Life of Eirḗnē

Chapter 12: Life Puzzle

Leia

People entered and exited my life carelessly. They healed parts of me I couldn't quite repair on my own. There were individuals who unknowingly filled in the craters in my heart with their presence, the same way people hadn't bothered to close the scars they tampered with.

I built a safety net in houses I didn't belong in, treasured connections long after the bond dissolved, and carried the burden of holding haunting lessons close. I created a comfort zone for the people who viewed me as a trial-and-error card.

Where does the cycle stop?

In my early teen years, I felt safer in the company of strangers rather than people who were my own relatives. Familial love was provided easily to me by my own family, yet I felt there was a missing puzzle piece. I was an open book, but also someone who had multiple layers to her story.

Begrudgingly I shifted between friendships over the years, attempting to fit in where I was meant to stand out. I made it a personal promise to protect my own heart, but also let worthy people in– to reserve a place where people can find solace.

They say that hurt people, hurt people.

A person who isn't healed properly will continue to make errors to who they're surrounded by. I learned that when you are surrounded by those who struggle to healthily express the thoughts that kept them captive for so long, a disaster is in the mix.

I let my happiness rely on empty promises, volatile feelings, and erratic responses. My feelings were stirred by incidents and the ones I cherish. I let my moods highly depend on the people I'm surrounded with.

How do you know if someone's not right for you? How do you know if they're not meant to be in your life?

Does that so-called spark you have with a person disappear after a while? What do you do then?

At a young age, I embraced that I'm naturally expressive, emotional, and sensible. It's a power I hold that I know most do not acknowledge. Being vulnerable is the side not many shed light to.

Growing up, I was advised by my parents to love openly, forgive wholeheartedly, constantly be respectful, and kind, even to those who did you wrongly. However, what came with that is the fact that I expected that the treatment I gave would be returned. That was not the case whatsoever.

Love means to care for someone, adore all that they do, accept who they are, and be present as much as possible. I realized later on that love is also what's provided even when it isn't expected, and returned.

I was loved rightly, and loved wrongly all at once. The home in me I worked tirelessly to keep clean was made messy countless times. I cleaned up after people's messes, dusted the picture frames of people I took pictures with, and made the bed for someone I didn't recognize anymore: me.

I had to be okay with the fact that my mind– my home– will hold memories within the four walls. It may be sustaining cracks, but none too much to stay unfixable. I had to accept that even with a welcome mat, unwelcome people may come to visit.

Pieces of me were taken along with the people who left. They'll carry a memory of me long forgotten, while I stare at the darkened blemishes which they left behind.