A Bandage for My Worn-Out Heart
This all began with love. I used to think that only relationships could break me, but I never imagined that familial love could hurt more than a thousand nights of crying. I may have believed that I was evolving, distancing myself from my teenage mistakes. However, just as my wounds continued to bleed, it seemed that my siblings’ indifference had never truly healed.
In my teenage years, I held onto selfish beliefs, driven by the turbulence of changing hormones and a shifting world. My mistakes hurt people, but they couldn’t simply sever the family ties that bound us together.
Things I realized that somewhere along the way, things no longer appeared as they once did. Perhaps the comfort of my rose-tinted lenses was too warm for me to see reality as it truly is. Maybe I assumed that things had changed. Perhaps I hoped that I was seen the way I had strived to be seen. Maybe it was just my own wishful thinking all along.
The thing about the truth is that it can be difficult to accept. Just like my perspective of my siblings when in truth they weren’t accepting of me. I may have seen recent interactions with them as a profound departure from the past, but the reality is that forgiveness, both giving and receiving, isn’t as simple as it seems.
Or perhaps it was too late for me to be redeemed.
Some forms of love can be mended, forgiven, and reborn. But some love shatters.
As I grew older, I realized the need to become a trustworthy and reliable person, someone seen as an adult. I often acted like I knew it all, but in their eyes, I was just a foolish kid.
The painful truth hit me once again when I overheard my sibling talking about me, just five seconds after I’d left their apartment.
“She had the audacity to ask me about the debt she claims I owe her, when she hasn’t truly been helpful with the favors I’ve asked of her.”
My mind went blank, my arms weakened, and reason vanished from my eyes. All that remained in my body were my feet, carrying me on the 15-minute walk back to my house.
As I replayed the words over and over in my head — the sound of my brother’s voice, the buzzing of passing vehicles, and every little thing I had done for everyone — I came to a painful realization. It all went unnoticed. I was unseen. All my efforts to change were never truly perceived. I was never forgiven, and I was never considered a person of value in their eyes.
So, I’ve come to understand that I should not be shameless that I always have your love. Even our shared blood, the bond we had, had reached a point beyond reason.
As I bear these wounds, I’m left wondering if they’ll ever heal, as long as I hope you will all forgive me. Time may march forward, and I may gain my own independence — my own dogs, my own porch, and my own bike. Yet, I’ll always gaze at that same family photo, haunted by the question of whether I’ve ever truly lived a life that justified your love.
