Painters of Pain

Let’s face it, we all have had one person destroy or damage us. That’s just me being dramatic. Let me ease up on my language and use the word hurt. If you haven’t, I feel sorry for you. It could be a friend, family member, colleague, or a stranger.

As I have had to go back and “move past my pain,” I saw that I hurt people. For one, it’s too late to make amends. Pain can add up and take its toll on a human being. Each person who hurts you paints pain on your soul’s canvas.

Sometimes, pain gets so heavy that it can trigger someone to fall. Hopefully, they stand back up, but sometimes they don’t. Every stroke from every paintbrush gets embedded into their memory.

I was always too wrapped up in my own darkness to see I hurt people. I cried in the summer for nights when I saw it was a motorcycle accident. Last night, I remembered everything so vividly that I went looking for pictures. It was not an accident.

I know I shouldn’t feel guilty because it was almost 16 years ago, but I know I hurt him and I just saw that this year. I was a painter on his canvas. I know I was not the reason. I just wish I was a better person back then.

I am again engulfed in grief and guilt. Maybe I am over-reacting, but I can’t help but think I was a facet of the weighted pain he carried.