After pain we regenerate, renaissance, we make a new self. The new self doesn’t really exist but we fool the world into thinking we have moved on. We hide all our scars and the fears and the real ‘self’. The real ‘self’ only you know. The one behind closed doors. The one who can spontaneously burst into tears by the thought of you, and other days be fine. The one afraid of attachment, of always liking someone more, of never being good enough, of never being with someone who was wholeheartedly a choice. The one who prescribes to the culture we live in which says love is free, easy and everywhere. But love is never free, easy and only an image of love is everywhere. The projected image works because we all have a hole in our lives which we try to fill with something. We daily try to mask our own inadequacies. The new self which shouts “replace” when really it should be screaming “repair”. But no one likes facing who they really are, few want to look inwardly at why their relationships fail and would rather drop the blame entirely on the other person. The new self which can’t help but make anyone anyone who has ever hurt them feel like shit, because the new self., alike to the old, likes to remind themselves that they are capable of inflicting some level of pain. They want to remind these people that they still hurt. And finally it’s that grin to go with it because now you’ve fooled them all. The new self is an extension of all that was wrong with the old self with just a double-helping of bitterness. The new self becomes part of the world with all the other people trying to fool us that they are fundamentally changed.
Apparently what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.