So it’s been a few days since my breakdown. Am I over it? Yes and no. I know it’ll happen again in the future, but I find myself forgiving and forgetting. Honestly, a part of me doesn’t want to forgive and forget. But it just…happens. I guess THAT’s what family is. Family is who you’re stuck with. Family is going through all this and learning from it. Family is there to shape you into something beautiful using the sharpest knives and the softest bandages. Without realizing it, I’m able to get out of my room and make small talk with my brother. Is this normal? Is this healthy? I don’t know. And the scar is still there, but somehow, like always, disputes with the family resolve the fastest.
In the beginning of my depression, all the negativity slowly chipped at me until I couldn’t handle it anymore. It hurts more when it comes from your loved ones. But I know they don’t mean to I guess. No one’s got the perfect solution on how to live, nor have a manual on how to be a good family for someone. It’s something you learn through time and experience. So I accept that. I make mistakes too, and I want them to forgive me as easily as I forgive them. And it’s not like I can avoid them forever like how I might try to with friends that I don’t agree with. At the end of the day, we’re all learning. Learning how to love one another, how to use our knives to smooth out our imperfections. I can’t say the hurt just disappears, but blood seems to make it a lot easier to fade and mend compared to water. There’s just that mix of “substance” to it that makes it stronger than just one molecule.