In Which the Writer Expresses Atonement

It is said that the heart is the seat of human emotion. The heart, as is well known, is a rather powerful muscle... and muscles are slowly becoming my specialty. Therefore, I'm finding myself rather often thinking philosophically about the body and how it functions as an appropriate metaphor for various emotional states.

Trigger points are a favorite. A trigger point is a hypersensitive nodule in a muscle that, when compressed to a certain level of discomfort, refers pain, tingling or numbness elsewhere in the body. If held over a period of time at that particular level of discomfort, the nodule is starved of blood. The referred pain diminishes slowly. When released, the point is flooded with new, fresh, oxygenated blood-- the cells are nourished, the muscle relaxes, and the phantom pains disappear completely. Other stuff happens, too, with synapses and filaments and whatnot, but it's the blood that I want to talk about.

I feel like this is a description of my behavior and subsequent healing over the past year or so.

I have been truly awful. I was experiencing so much inner pain and confusion that it spread itself out over my whole little world, referring that discomfort to my friends and family. Although I could definitely see and feel the effect my inner "trigger point" was having on my life and the lives of those around me, I couldn't (wouldn't?) take a good solid look at where that referred pain was coming from.

I hurt people. A lot of people. I hurt people I cared about deeply, people that meant everything to me. I did some terrible things, I told some terrible lies, I covered my face and hated myself thoroughly for a long time. I couldn't even begin to describe what was happening in my heart to the people who loved me and wanted to know, other than to make up lame excuses and shrug it off. Or whine. Or nag. Or distract their questions with something else.

I didn't know where to begin, how to name the bad thing inside me, so I manipulated those around me to hide my shame at being "broken."

I'm so sorry. I was wrong.

I've been taking steps, over the past few months, to find and push on my trigger point. I figure that the more I starve it of the bad blood that's been congealing over the past eight years or so, the more healing will take place when I finally release it. It's been an enlightening process so far. I'm learning how to set boundaries, how to express discomfort or need, how to stand up for myself, how to apologize honestly. It feels good to own up to myself, to confront the things in myself that I've been so afraid of. Therapy's been rewarding on that front, and continues to palpate the tissue of my soul for that point.

You all have a right to be angry. You have a right to express your pain to me, or withhold it, as you see fit. I accept the responsibility of my actions and the subsequent trust I must now re-earn.

I am learning to love myself. No... that isn't quite right; love is not hard to come by for me. I am learning to respect myself, and accept my shortcomings, which for some reason is much more difficult.

But I feel, for the first time ever, as if I'm truly on the mend.