Living with what can’t be undone when i wasn’T love.
I woke up crying this morning. Deep, disorienting grief. Confusion. Heavy guilt. What happened last November keeps replaying like a fixed point in time. Intense flashbacks. Nightmares while awake.
The moment I wasn’t love and I destroyed a partnership. The moment I wasn’t love and hurt someone who did not deserve it and broke their heart and my own heart in the process.
The pain is unrelenting. The guilt is heavy and constant. It does not matter how much healing I have done since. It does not matter that I have ended the patterns that led me there.
I simply cannot fucking undo the decision that I made when I wasn’t love.
I cannot take it back. I cannot change how the person I harmed feels about me or the damage my actions caused.
This is permanent.
I have to live with that guilt. Forever. It feels like being completely in over my head with no escape, no fix, no repair. All that is left is moving myself forward in a non-toxic way.
Living differently. Choosing healthier. Continuing my recovery journey. Making damn sure I never hurt someone with my old toxic patterns this way again. Being love for the first time in my life.
While also feeling unrelenting grief. Unstoppable remorse. And not avoiding it or numbing it.
Sitting with and feeling every fucking jolt of pain I earned and deserve, that shoots like lightning through my nervous system. Over and over again.
I danced to Over My Head by Kai Wachi at high tide on Locust Beach, and the setting said everything the words could not. Water pressing in. Wind loud enough to drown out thought. That question in the song keeps looping.
When did it all break open?
How did it all begin to end?
It feels like standing where land runs out and the ocean decides how far it comes. The track builds and the bass stretches wide, then drops hard, and my body moves because my mind cannot fix what my heart already knows.
What I had is gone, forever.
This song fits my life because it names the guilt without trying to solve it. There is heavy remorse here.
There is the ache of knowing some breaks cannot be repaired.
I hear the line about the water rising and it feels like the weight of a breakup that will not rewind.
I tried to find a way to turn back the time. I really did. We all do when we fuck up.
The music does not offer rescue. It offers pressure. It offers honesty. It says you are in over your fucking head and you are still here. That matters.
Dancing it out at high tide was not about performance. It was about letting the second drop hit like truth. Lasers and kick drums everywhere. Chaos made precise.
That is what grief feels like when you stop fighting it. Movement instead of bargaining. Presence instead of repair.
I can only stand at the edge, feel the water rise, and choose not to run by:
Owning my shit.
Being completely accountable for the damage I caused.
Demonstrating my amends through living my present life without my old toxic patterns and never hurting anyone this way, ever again.
Staying clean and sober from alcohol and drugs.
I cannot undo what happened. That truth remains. But it is not the end of my life. What is new is how I live from here. I move forward with awareness instead of avoidance, with care instead of compulsion. I choose presence over numbing. Integrity over impulse. The grief still comes, but it no longer owns me. I can feel it and keep going.
If anything comes from this, let it be this. I live differently now. I am a different person than I have ever been. I love more carefully. I love myself. I listen sooner. I stop when something feels off instead of pushing through it. I do not repeat the destructive patterns that hurt someone I loved or myself. That matters. And even with everything I carry, I am still here, still growing, still capable of becoming someone safer to love.
I am Tukayote Helianthus.
I am strong.
I am resilient.
I am living in integrity.
I am unrecognizably different today.
I am unkillable.
I am love.