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This is me accepting that I have to be my own Band-Aid.
This is me accepting that the people who have broken me will never be able to put me back together.
This is me shaking my head at every time I mistook toxicity for a remedy. This is me waking up and realizing that I can no longer be dependent on a tainted pair of lips to kiss away the pain.
This me accepting that a heart that is broken is still worthy of love.
This is me putting an end to all the times I’ve felt sorry for myself. This is me taking back all of the regret I’ve carried for serving my heart on a silver platter to those who only ever wanted to consume my love, with no intention of reciprocating it. This is me seeing that my vulnerability is a strength, not a weakness.
This is me accepting that the first cut is the deepest for a reason.
This is me validating my feelings instead of being ashamed of them. This is me standing up for every time I have been told my pain isn’t real enough; for every time I “should have” gotten over it already. This is me knowing that it’s okay to hurt. This is me learning that it’s even more okay to acknowledge it.
This is me accepting that I owe it to myself to move forward from these burdens that have been weighing me down for so long.
This is me untying myself from the cords of insincerity and apathy that I had held onto for so long. This is me seeing that there is more to life than these ghosts of the past that I keep revisiting. This is me knowing that a brighter future is still within reach.
This is me accepting that time may not hold the power to healing my wounds; but I certainly do.
This is me realizing that I deserve to feel happiness course through my veins. This is me learning that I’m not always the one to blame. This is me trusting that something out there is watching over me, urging me to keep on fighting with every step.
This is me accepting that change can be good.
This is me knowing that in order to grow, I need to let go. This is me shedding out of the flesh others have felt obligated to claim as their own. This is me accepting that everything up until this very moment has only made my skin that much stronger. This is me reclaiming my body as my home. This is me airing out my wounds like open windows that no longer need to be boarded away from the world. This is me wearing my scars on my sleeve.
This is me accepting that healing isn’t always linear.
This is me admitting that I sometimes pick at scabs. This is me allowing myself to still struggle from day to day. This is me loving myself for each and every part that I am.
This is me accepting that, just maybe, I’ve been whole all along.