One day you’ll look back and you’ll know how young you were, and how stupid. You’ll know how everything you felt was no less real, but you’ll be disgusted with yourself for the way you handled it. You’ll know how you squandered the support and love that was given to you, because there was a kind of narcotic gratification in embracing the pain. You’ll look back and know the hurt was gone long before you thought to look up and realize the fact, and long before you finally let it go. You’ll open a window and see what the rest of us know: the world is no wasteland, and you're alone because you’ve insisted for so long that everyone play by your rules. The rest of us will have moved on, a jolly enough company, not without trials, but no longer consumed by them. You’ll hear the cliche “You can’t love me if you don’t love yourself” and wish you’d taken it seriously, sooner. You will discover grace. You will look back and realize your life lacks a central tragedy. You will see the violent reds and blacks that swirl in your thoughts now will settled into a mottled grey or brown in some spots, while a soft gold or lavender in others. You will find within yourself grace. You will, over time, wax and wane with longing and hate. These cycles will resolve themselves into a satisfaction that good was done, and bad, but you tried your best. You will consider the works of others and the drunken frenzy of their actions. With clarity you will see them not unlike the flailing and frenzy of your own uncalled for panicked outbursts. You will judge good was done, and bad, but they tried their best. You will extend to them grace. No outburst, years after, will still seem justified. You will learn calm, and like swimming or bicycle riding, it will become a muscle-memory you can not forget. You will take comfort in this grace.
You will look back, one day, and you’ll realize how soon you grew up, long before you were ready. You won’t know the lines of demarcation, but you will know you had a childhood, followed by a storm, and then a life; and the borders between the three, while blurred, are impregnable.
You wouldn’t dare go back, any way.