Imagine being the cause of someone's pain. Not that superficial pain from hurting their feelings or doing something to disappoint them. Not even the immense pain that comes attached to betrayal. Imagine causing excruciating pain that literally catapults that person's life into a downward spiral of despair. Causing an irreversible pain that reaches down into the very depths of that individual ripping them apart from the inside. Imagine that.
For years, I haven't had to imagine, but I have been that person. Resenting my own birth, my own existence, all because my mere presence was a mistake. Wishing I was never born. I wasn't supposed to be here. I wasn't supposed to show up when I did. I wasn't supposed to come and shake up my mother's life. I wasn't supposed to come and be the reason my mother disappointed my grandmother. I wasn't supposed to come and ruin everything.
I wasn't supposed to come and ruin everything, but I did. Honestly, after realizing that, I didn't know what to do. I didn't know whether I was supposed to stay or go. I didn't know whether to move or stand still. I didn't know whether to live or die truthfully. I just knew I didn't want to continue messing everything up. I knew that being a mistake was already bad enough. That meant I couldn't dare add on to it and cause problems or make a mistake myself. That meant everything I did had to be good and perfect. That meant I had to make up for everyone else's mistakes. That meant I had to make up for mistakes I didn't make or create. That meant I had to be the one. That meant I had to prove I was supposed to be here. That meant I had to prove that I was supposed to exist. For twenty plus years I have been trying to prove myself. Trying to prove I was good enough. Trying to prove I was worth it. Trying to prove that not aborting me wasn't a mistake. Trying to prove that even though I didn't come conveniently, I could still be good. God could still make me good, right? Good enough at least? But that still wasn't good enough. I had to be perfect. I forced myself to believe I had to be perfect. I had to be the best at everything. I had to fulfill the desires, goals, and fantasies of everyone who I stopped from fulfilling their own. I had to make up for all the dreams I made unrealized. I had to make up for the life I stole.
In the middle of this not even realizing it was my own life that I had stolen. I forced myself to live in the misery of being a mistake that I couldn't even live in the joy of being mistaken. All this time I have been concerned with making someone, anyone love me. Making someone, anyone see the value in me. Making someone, anyone realize they were mistaken about me. That I wasn't a mistake. That I was born on purpose for purpose. That this mistake could be great. That I was born because God wanted me here to fulfill purpose, to fulfill an assignment. That I simply WAS supposed to be BORN.
Man I just wanted to prove that I was supposed to be born. Trying for so long to prove that I was supposed to have been born that I haven't truly lived. Too busy living life to support my creation but not living to fulfill purpose. Can I just breathe again?
Inhale. Exhale. Truthfully, I just started breathing some months ago. I just realized that all this time I was trying to prove my existence to everyone else, when all I had to do was prove myself. I realized my real problem was I didn't even think that I was supposed to be born. I have no more points to prove, just life to LIVE!
-MelMil
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