by The Swayer
Dedicated to an anonymous friend
Her thoughts betrayed her to the point that the dilemna of whether to trust her feelings or not became a constant struggle. Then she would continously chastice herself for the solution she had chosen. The biggest uncertainty had always been herself. Would she ever truly find someone who loved her? Would all the pain in her chest ever leave? Would she ever feel wanted and appreciated again?
Sometimes all the noise just became too overwhelming and her walls would break down. She wanted to think she was brave and strong but everytime those protective walls crumbled so easily, she knew the truth. Yet, while there was no point in denying it, she would always see that the cycle would be repeated. Whether it was out of habit or routine, she had no clue.
It was Christmas and there she sat staring at her light blue wall, her walls slowly crumbling at the annoying whispers. It's was supposed to be a day of joy and merriment, but instead, she felt pushed down by a dark force. Her lungs full, she gasped for air. Her stomach dropped and silent tears began running down her face. She didn't want this, no. The strings pulling at her emotions where not her own anymore. Her puppet strings were now in the hands of rememberance. The past now controlled them.
She never wanted to think of what had happened that night ever again. So many times she had tried to bury it all deep under lock and key. It was all futile because those scars would resurface in their own accord and suffocate her. People kept telling her time would heal her, that it was up to her to decide to let go. Few truly understood, even though some days she thought no one did.
There were few words to describe the feeling she currently felt. Worthlessness. Aloneness. Emptiness. Utter sadness mixed with total despair. So she sat there and took it, wanting to do something but unable to. Her feelings pummeled and pummeled until she was bruised and battered purple. Drained and exhausted she put her head down in her pillow and focused on her breathing, waiting for her attacker's to pass. After a few moments of feeling empty, she took out her diary, turned to the last page, and wrote:
"It will be ok."
Because it was okay for her to feel that way. It could well be her worst Christmas yet, but she would forever remember it as the day it all began making sense. The certainty of that comforted her enough to close her eyes and forget the pain. Forget until the children of the world would be waking their parents, yelling that it was christmas; until she had to wake up again.