I know a girl; she was something, strong, independent, intelligent, kind, irritating, sarcastic, and overbearing and just basically a good person all around.She knew the time was coming and it was making her sad, sadder than she already was. She was crying because her heart was breaking, and what is special about this ladies and gents? She let it break, she gave up control.
This girl counts on very few people in her life, she goes alone, she stands alone, and fights her battles alone. That is just a lot of alone for one little girl. She did not know the importance of Love, the kind of love that can start wars, create a human life and give everything a different perspective. She did not realize with the lack of this kind of love in her life, was, and is the reason she is struggling with being broken.
It’s why she is so confused and lost, it took so long to occur to her that she never had that kind of love ever. After her divorce twenty years ago, she shut down her feelings, needs, wants and focused on surviving another day with her children and their life. I do admire her a bit, from afar, she is a tough girl, and she was resilient.
At this moment did she wanted to die? She has already sat in the pain for two days and two nights already……..please, someone….make it stop….please, it was overtaking her being, she felt her body, and mind shutting down. She was sure she would get through this alone, again……but this time was different, she was too tired, sad, lonely, insignificant ,to most people except for a few.
It was one of them that set her in a spiral that she did not want to participate in, but there were not choices, just waiting for time to pass and find sleep in any way possible. The pain was ripping her body limb from limb apart, slowly, purposefully and constant. How much Valium does one take to help alleviate the pain, just so she can breathe? How much Ambien can one take before they don’t wake up again? These questions are running through her head, and consuming her thoughts.
This girl also has a gun for protection, and a fighting knife just in case, by her bed. She picked up the knife and for the first time in her life, she wanted to carve something in her body. I do believe they use to call it Bloodletting, back in the day, so that they bad blood would drain out and the new blood would be healing. In those moments she ran the blade down her leg, without cutting, just making deep scratch marks.
Then the silver on the gun caught her eye and she picked it up and took it out of the holster. She sat and held it for many, many minutes. She flicked the safety to fire over and over, mesmerized by the sound of the click, and then pointed it to her heart. She knew she could make this stop in a split second, so why is she pausing? If this bullet will hit her directly in the heart, then the pain would stop, right? She was feeling tired now, the medicine is kicking in……..she puts the gun back into the holster and sets it on her dresser. Ready to protect herself, her soul, and what is left of a heart that is more scar tissue than real human flesh.
She fell asleep with nightmares overtaking her mind, she was just glad that in the morning they were not real, but why did they felt so real? So right? So wrong? She is confused and lost, she is a hard person to help, she won’t ask, and most people don’t ask if she needs help either. So she sits alone, having to make difficult decisions surrounded by purple walls and burgundy sheets, with a flannel cream blanket, sometimes if she wraps it just right around her body, than she feels safe for a moment, like a butterfly before they leave the cocoon.
Those moments are rare, and lately nonexistent, but she still love that blanket. She bargains with herself in her mind, give it one more day, just one more night, please Girl, give yourself a chance, then I will understand your choice better.
Make sense? For many many minutes she sits so still, you could mistake her for a statute, as tears run down her face. Then uncontrollable cries came from her voice, and her body back in the fetal position. She mercifully falls into a night of fear and shadows. She whispers to herself, okay my dear daughter, for you my love, my closest tie, my heart. I will give it one more chance.
This is so weird, but she felt better the next morning, and sat in the sunshine on a lawn chair. Her body felt like it was in a boxing match that she clearly lost, but who cares. Her face is lifted to the sky, feeling so grateful for its warmth and healing touch.
One more chance for this girl.
“Ultimately what remains is a story. In the end, it’s the only thing any of us really owns. Some people write to explain their lives, others to escape them.”
(What Remains by Carole Radziwill).