I don’t believe people when they say that time heals things. Time can’t heal things. Over time we get used to things; we learn to live with things. There is an illusion that we are healed, but we are not. Time does not heal us. The wounds of our past are still upon us, just like scars on our flesh. They may be faded, they may blend in, but they still mark us and are part of our make-up. Sometimes they add some character. Sometimes they disfigure us. Sometimes no one sees them as they are tucked away from prying eyes, hidden where only few people are privy to see. But sometimes they are blatantly there, like they don’t belong, and everyone upon everyone asks how you got that mark. There are some wounds that are deeper inside us and though no one can see the marks upon our bones where they have patched up, the mark is still there. But we’re always reminded – when it rains it aches, or when we walk, we limp, or we can’t quite carry the same load we once could.
Not all injuries leave a mark. And some injuries we don’t even notice, and years from now we may wonder how that mark got there, wonder why we walk weird, or wonder why we can’t quite tilt our head as far to the left as we can to the right. Somethings just slide right under our noses. Somethings we can just walk off. But somethings can alter us so drastically that we may even need to learn to think, talk or walk again.
Injuries of the soul are often over-looked as they’re very unmeasurable. There’s a moratorium when it comes to talking about our hurt. We are told to not complain, to deal, to get over it, to bury it, that it’s not that bad – to live with it. And we know we must live and keep going, but we are not to mention our demons or plague the living with the baggage we cart across this existence. We say there must be something wrong with her, he’s not right in the head, must have had a bad childhood, she’s got issues, you’ve got to handle him with kid-gloves. So often we forget about the power of sadness. And we forget that there’s a lot of things out of our control. Being happy all the time just isn’t feasible. Pretending to be untouchable can be exhausting – and sometimes it does more harm than good. But for the sake of others who hurt and others who are happy, we are taught to keep our pain to ourselves. We are taught to sign casts and help people when they are physically unable, but we cower away from the mentally unable. We evade the emotionally unstable.
I have learned that people who look like they have it all together spend a lot time making sure people see them as composed, but they’re usually the most messed up. I have learned that pain is an indication that we have been forever changed, whether it’s of the body or the soul. I have learned some people mean it when they want to help, other people want to believe they are the type who can help, but they really don’t want to help. I have learned that time isn’t all we got left. I have learned that each of us are walking wounded – some of us are still bleeding, some of us will always limp and some of us will always feel the pain. I have learned that we even can’t control ourselves at times. I have learned that pain is worth talking about – if you don’t let it out, it will grow and fester inside of you and create a whole new injury that once again time will not heal. I have learned that we all are coping with living, it’s just we tell ourselves that we are coping with death. And I have learned that we all get sad.