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Kindle Notes & Highlights
A testament to remembering where you came from, but understanding you do not have to stay there.
There’s the Rub You were weak. You were weak, and you gave up. You were weak and took the coward’s way out. You were weak, and you left without a word. It doesn’t take much strength to slam the door of an empty room. I was strong, and I locked it behind you. I was strong, and I cried. I was strong, and I moved on. I was strong.
“I Am Sorry for Your Loss” When someone we love dies, we say we lost them. Perhaps this is our mind’s way of convincing our hearts we will one day find them again.
I don’t want to be stronger, she tells me. I just want my sister back.
As we stand there, of course I know what I am looking for in the Goddamn self-help section. Help. For myself.
You need to stop internalizing other people’s pain, my mother tells me on the phone. It’s not healthy. She is right; I have done this all of my life. Like an overused sponge, I soak up all the sadness around me, feel it as if it were my own, and expect it not to seep into my own life. Don’t be blinded by your own light, she cautions. And don’t get hurt by pain that doesn’t belong to you. But if I’m not pained by their pain, I have not earned the right to be overjoyed by their joy.
I will cry myself dry. I will survive. I will thrive, said my voice, from deep inside.