Who Am I, Not To?

   What does it mean to love myself? What does it mean to bathe in a sea of conscious love, owning my ugly, and allowing myself to be open and vulnerable for the world to see? What does it mean be able to walk about in confidence, knowing in my heart that I am truly free?
     Too long have I shackled myself in self-condemnation; too afraid to embrace, accept, and own all that is beautiful in life. I have battered and beaten myself so low that some days it literally took all my will and strength to simply open my eyes. I have hated myself so hard, that every compliment that a person told me was a knife piercing through my heart. I have killed myself so many times that I fear that death may be afraid of me. I have unwelcomed myself so many times that this very existence feels foreign to me.
    What does it mean to love myself? Who are you, not to? My brother told me that in response to the tears that streamed down my face as he acknowledged me. I was touched. I was moved. I was so moved that I began to repeat that question. Who are you, not to?
      Who are you, not to love yourself? Who are you? What does it mean to love yourself? To own and embrace even the ugliest and dirtiest parts of you? Who are you, not to love the parts of you that have loved you before you knew the word "love" existed? Who are you, not to love the parts of you that everyone sees, knows, and loves? Who are you, not to love the intimate parts of you that you know you want to love, but choose to hide away from?
      I have struggled every day to own my ugly. To stop hurting myself. To keep myself focused on the now, the present. I have given up and tried again, beating myself up after every failure. Then rising up again, hoping that maybe today, I will get it right. I have embraced every form of verbal abuse, allowing it to become my primary language with myself. I have forced myself to learn the new languages of love, replacing the abusive words with kinder, softer ones. I have set countless rules and limits to keep myself in check, just in case. I have given myself every possible excuse to wallow in self-pity and still possess the audacity to refuse the pity of others. I have given myself every reason to stop, yet muster every bit of energy I have to encourage others to keep going. I have sinned so many times against myself, yet fail to seek redemption. Yet, here I am, writing. Free to live and experience another day.
     Who am I, not to love the innocent child within me? Who am I, not to embrace and heal the broken parts of me? Who am I, to hide away from myself constantly?
     Today, I can no longer hide. The tears have long dried out. I have outgrown my shell and have taken up the practice of self-exposure. The games that I played with insanity and death have gotten old and are requiring longer commitment terms. I can no longer play those games. Too many times have I knocked on death's door awaiting a response. It has taken her catching up to me to realize that Death and I are not even on the same playing level. I was at a disadvantage. But I suppose, now, I have a chance to get serious with Life.
        My heart is calling. She wants me to return home. Back to Life, where I presently belong. Back to Life, where my heart has always remained. I am returning home, back to the heart that loved me before I knew who I was. I am returning home, back to the love that embraced me when I did not, could not, embrace myself. I am going home, back to the heart that kept beating, long after I begged it to stop.
    I am not immortal. Neither are you. This life, this experience, this moment, will only allow you to choose so many times before you run out. There is only one you, right now. Who are you, not to love that person?