Wounds become scars and scars become memories. Distant memories of the past me. Everything in life will pass, whether I like it or not. Good things will pass and I will miss them, and bad things will pass and I will remember them. Everything will change. Every change will leave a mark, a trace of the choices I have made.

It’s always a surprise. Each time I repeat that I know it’s going to start next time, and each time I’m surprised. It always starts with the unexpected return of memories and suddenly some scars are open wounds again. And they hurt just as much as when they first appeared.

Then comes the rest, the things that led up to it, the things that followed it. And the whole picture appears in my mind. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes I can deal with the past on my own and I’ve become stronger and healthier. Sometimes it tears me to pieces and all I can do is lie and ask for help.

Healing is a process that takes years and years, and I don’t know if it has an end. Every day new wounds appear and they become scars and scars become memories. And the process starts all over again.

I’m built on trauma and I know how dramatic that sounds. But I own my words and I’m not afraid of them. I’m made of traumas and they’re everywhere. Maybe it’s because of my psychic construction, maybe I’m hypersensitive, maybe life is like that. I don’t know, not many people talk about their traumas, how do I know if I’m special or not?

Every now and then it starts again. Something small triggers it, something so small and so unimportant that I don’t even see it. But it starts a powerful process. A process that sometimes ends in success and sometimes leaves a mess around me. And sometimes both.

Breakdowns can be cathartic and cleansing, but they can also be destructive and hurtful. Mine are usually both cathartic and destructive. This is when I avoid people and withdraw from relationships. I also reject those I love and who love me. It’s easier that way, or so I always thought. I was wrong, not for the first time in my life, and not for the last.

A few days ago I wrote the post about vulnerability and sensitivity, the day after I published it I had one of the biggest breakdowns of my life. I hurt the person I love the most. I hurt myself. And it all happened because I thought I could deal with one of my biggest traumas on my own. I refused help and I was sure I could do it. It wasn’t a moment, the process took months and the breakdowns were just the climax. I literally broke. I broke two hearts.

Healing isn’t easy, and it takes years and years. But it’s a process that every responsible person must undertake. No one should expect their loved one to be saved, and no one should expect their loved one to be forever, despite the pain they’re experiencing. Everyone is responsible for their own healing. Everyone is responsible for the hurts they have caused.

Broken hearts can heal, but they will never be the same. Sometimes they’re more noble, sometimes they’re just more broken. Only time will tell which is true.