the words you say

I didn’t know I had changed until the ones around me told me that I had. What was going on? What do you mean? Aren’t I just myself? For the people that remembered an outdoorsy toddler or a quiet middle schooler or an ambitious teenager, something was off. But they couldn’t just tell me I was different and then I’d understand. They saw something was wrong, but I was still stuck in the same body, unaware that I’d left reality and gotten a new something. A soul? A brain? What happened? No one knew.

I had changed years before, but that change was more subtle. It was like something was in me that hadn’t been there before. No more pictures of myself. No more putting myself out there. I didn’t want the attention anymore. I wanted to be hidden away from the threat of a boy. And as you know, the process worked until it didn’t anymore. No more swallowed words. But a choking feeling that I wouldn't be believed would make me swallow again. Sure, that changed me. But what was left to come was worse.

The words you say bother me. That doesn’t seem like you. Who are you to define me better than I am? Do you expect me to be an innocent girl after a sexual assault and seven plus hospitalizations for mental health issues? Are my words too harsh for you? Would you like me to be quiet? You think you don’t know me anymore. But nothing changed except for the experiences I endured. I might now do one thing, but I still do the other. And the words you say are now an internal dialogue that tortures me when my guard is down. And you say you love me. My {insert relationship} is bipolar. Do you know what that means? Or are they just words for you to relate to another person with a family member they saw disappear? I’m not going anywhere. And I am still me.

I see it in the eyes of the people that love me unconditionally. When my sister told me she had gotten me back, I was shocked they noticed. I was actually changing. No, I was actually being me again. It was working. My hard work paid off. When my brother came to visit, I got nauseous with anticipation because I wanted him to see what she did. I had done it. He was going to see it. And everything was going to go back to normal. That’s when I realized I truly believed it was my fault. Something they had never thought. And something that I needed to work on for my own being.

The words you say change my life. The whispers of I didn’t worry about you all weekend and you beat this, Grace, shift my perspective of myself and my entire situation. My mom once told me she just wanted me to be happy. And now I’m dancing in my car again. They will always be my people. I owe them everything. And I’m going to take care of them one day. It’s not a promise but a knowing. Now, the words I say tell them that. And the words they say live in my mind chanting at me when things get rough. Reminding me of my purpose, my focus, my inner being… and the words you say don’t mean anything anymore.