I thought the world of you, my mind said.
I thought so highly of you.
Yet here you are, broken again; in another way, by another person, a fraction of the light within your soul now fractured, shattered, gone.
What did you do to receive this?
You thought you were doing good. You thought you were doing well.
But you messed with the beast.
And the beast bit back.
And now you’re lying on the floor of a dark cell, emotions scattered around you like shredded pieces of paper, and what do you have left?
Truly, what do you have left?
You’re no better than them, my mind said. You’re no better.
You thought so highly of yourself and your story and your situation. But maybe things got all twisted long ago. Maybe things weren’t what they seemed. Because now you’re in the cell, and the darkness beckons, and the words don’t form, the tears don’t spill, the hardness of the surface beneath your bones doesn’t pull away, the hardness just jabs into you and your body and that’s all that you are anymore: a body.
Pulled apart by the stakes. Pulled apart like your limbs would dislocate soon enough. But maybe not enough. Maybe it’s too much for the world to know your secrets. Maybe it’s too much or not your place to lecture.
Even if you think you’re saying something worthwhile–maybe not everyone is ready or willing or wanting to see it, hear it, grapple with it.
So, here you sit. Lost in the abyss; a taste of something more than The Void and you don’t like what you found. You don’t like what you found at all.
So go back to your words, lick your lips and wipe away those tears.
You’re not wanted here. Not fully, not wholly. Only certain parts, only certain parts and no truths, no perspectives, no stories different than their own.
You did something you shouldn’t have. You did something you shouldn’t have.
Like having opinions, having perspectives, having a voice, having a story. Just not in the way they liked, not in the way they are comfortable with expressing. And now it’s time to just walk away.
Even when it kills you.
…Especially when it kills you inside.
Some people aren’t ready for that. Some people aren’t equipped to handle it. You’ve said your piece. So peace out.
You’ll go back to grieve in whichever way that is. You’ll accept the process for what it is. Maybe not right now, maybe not today, but tomorrow, a soon coming tomorrow and you’ll find yourself okay again. Because it’s okay to feel. It’s okay to feel your feelings.
Even when you’re fractured. Even when a fraction of you has been depleted.
It’s still okay to feel that. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.
Because at least if you’re hurting, you know it’s because it mattered to you. You loved and you lost, and now you’re in pain, but it’s because you loved so much that it was worth it. You loved, you lost, you grieved, you overcame. Over and over. You overcame. So just see this as another thing to overcome. You’ve got this.
My mind had said its piece, and I had formed my own. So I folded up the letter again, letting the ink smudge into one another so that the words became mere blocks of black like long school buses. Unhinged. Unknown. A fraction of its own fracture. And I thought to myself, as I stared out the window with the tears running down its lips, and the mixture of my own tasted salty like the sea, I thought,
Thanks, Rebecca. Thanks.
About the piece:
Written 10/5/2022; Inspired by true events; music listened to: “Narcissist” by Lauren Spencer Smith