If the heart has a word, what would it be? And, sitting with this, I've found that the word in the heart is "yes"

 I thought I could out-run a memory, but my body remembered.

I always try to fool myself into thinking I can out-run my memories, but my body remembers. 

Because you can't run away from trouble, there ain't no place that far.

Recently, I had to go down bad memory lane to sift through my Google Photos to make sure my timeline of events on things fell in line with how my memory serves them-- as in, you know, the truth.

I don't know what made me take photos of what I did at the time, but now I am glad for it, because it vindicates me on so many levels, and it is reassuring.

I was still not prepared to read what I had found. It was an excruciatingly painful revisit. I felt shame. I felt embarrassment and humiliation. I cried bitterly. I was so ashamed of myself for having given so much.

But then I stopped myself. Sometimes the biggest exercises of empathy have to be for ourselves. I am not sorry that I had loved so deeply.

One of the letters in particular really broke my heart all over again, in ways I didn't realize my heart could still hurt. The anniversary of this is today. I was mad at the person in question. They had hurt my feelings, and I swore I was never going to speak to them ever again. Over, yes, a stupid miscommunication. I had put this person on "time out" and was giving them the silent treatment. They would do things to try to try to get my attention, but those were not apologies, and I refused to budge.

Then I got  a text message from someone saying that they were worried about this person. Then I got another text message from another person who was also concerned about them. One of these people I was friends with. The other several people who worked with this person who contacted me were not people I knew personally. But they were all deeply worried about this person, their health, and their behaviour. And they knew I knew how to talk to them.

Suddenly, all of my anger and resentment and hurt and frustration didn't matter. It had instantly evaporated. I did what I knew how, I had to take care of this person. In my own way. Within a matter of a couple of hours, I had put together a little package for them, of little things I hoped would make them think of me, and know that there was someone out there who cared about them. I wrote them a little card telling them how much and how deeply I loved them, and why. I sent it out the same day. It wasn't even a hesitation.

I know that you cannot save people. I know that you can't be responsible for other people. And I know that you can't always run to the rescue. Least of all dealing with people and their sobriety issues or their absolute refusal to recognize that something is wrong. But you can be there for them, and you can love them to whatever capacity you can to the best of your own abilities.

And I loved that person so very deeply.

They say that there are three sides to every story, Person A, Person B, and then "the Truth." Good thing, for whatever reason, I decided to save these photos of letters I am sure don't exist anymore. The "Truth" and what's "actch'll" is that complicated people with complicated emotions are going to make complicated mistakes, and I include myself in that. If you're going to tell "the Truth," tell the whole truth. When you tell them all the xyz, make sure to also make mention of using me as a human security blanket.

After going through the re-reading everything again--which is an important part of my healing, to face the truth, to re-visit what  happened, to recognize things about about myself --I don't regret who I am. I don't regret the amount of love I gave, because I meant it. I don't regret my generosity. I don't regret my care I don't regret my compassion. The person who wrote those letters, those deeply personal loving, giving love letters and words of encouragement--that is who I am. I know who I am and I can't change that.  I DID have to see them again, to make sure things were the way that remembered them. That were loving and generous. Isn't that what you are supposed to do when you care about other people? Give them everything you got?

I am not mad at myself, as much as I know I am not mad at the people who told me that this person had been unwell They didn't know what to do, and they reached out to someone they knew did. I don't fault them for that. 

I don't run away from trouble. I don't run away from dealing with things that have happened, because I have to live with the consequences. I know who I am. I know that I am deeply loving, nurturing person. I know this about myself and I can't change that. 

I can't change the way that my heart is.

...but I can be a little kind to myself about it.