Past baggage.
This idea that I must carry every negative thing every step
of the way; that I have to base every new decision and judgement on past
experiences. I can’t bury the past and I can’t wish it away with a magic lamp,
but I don’t have to sling it around my shoulders and wear it everywhere I go
either.
I can meet a new person with a fresh slate and not blame
them for other people’s misdeeds or assume they will treat me badly because
everyone else did. I can believe in what they say and do until they themselves show me differently.
I can smile at a man in a bar and not assume he will think I’m
leading him on, I can date without already expecting the worst in men, and I
can be open about my mental health without preparing counter-arguments and
defence mechanisms.
There’s every chance I’ll be right not to trust anyone, and
I’ll get hurt again, but there’s also a chance that I’m wrong and if I don’t allow
someone to get close to me I’ll never move past it.
I’ve got to stop seeing my abusers in strangers, my exes in new
flames and my past failures in present opportunities.
No, I can’t forget what happened, and I shouldn’t. But I’ve
also got to recognise that it’s in the past and those things don’t define me. I
need to stop looking for ways to get hurt because if you’re looking; you’ll
always, always find it.
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