The past repeats itself until it is faced. I am learning this, as many do, the hard way. It’s the repetition that pains the most. A new heartbreak at least breaks a new part, something previously untouched by life. The same old wound repeatedly pierced is somehow more degrading. Part of the insult of trauma is the over and over, the refusal of the past to pass. You are crystallized in time, for though the body ages and wrinkles form on the brow, deep inside, it is the same horror, the same grief as the days, years, even decades before.
Face the past. The past feels faceless and nameless, more like the water that drowns you as you try to swim. But is it water that drowns, or the inability to swim? Swimming takes practice. Water gives life, if approached appropriately. Everything can be learned. The past can provide strength. If we learn how to handle the past, we can find understanding, peace even. Everything is possible.