If my pillow could talk…

The stories it would tell.

It would tell you about the many, many nights I hugged it as I sat in the bathroom floor, too weak to go back to the bedroom between rounds of vomiting.

It would tell you all about my heartbreak and the number of tears it caught.

It would tell you how it comforted me when I felt so alone.

It would tell you about the nights I screamed into it for hours on end.

It would tell you about the nights I simply laid my head on it and quietly cried, begging for the strength to just hold on until morning.

It would tell you about a night where I cried and begged God to not let me wake in the morning. A night where I was in so much pain, that I simply would rather have stopped breathing. A night where I would alternate sobbing so hard I couldn’t breathe with periods of complete silence. Silence so deafening that you couldn’t hear me breathing.

It would tell you all the bitter things I have said and the revenge I have plotted.

It would tell you all about my grief. How my grief is named Dad and Brother. And how my grief is as real today as it was the day it began.

It would then tell you about the nights I cried out begging for guidance to find forgiveness for those who have hurt me.

It would tell you about the nightmares that leave me scared, heart pounding, and afraid. It would tell you about the nightmares I don’t even remember, but it does.

It would tell you all the things that I haven’t healed from enough to tell you. It would tell you about my healing. The progress I have made, the words that I can say that I couldn’t say before.

It would tell you how angry I still get. That I still cry out in anger and hurt.

It would tell you about all the tears that have came from walking down memory lane. Remembering favorite stories of so many people I love.

It would tell you about the giggles that come from browsing old photos, recalling precious memories, or reading a text from someone.

It would tell you my story.