December 8th, Year of Silence

Once again, I feel like cheap glass, shattered against the wall for dramatic effect. I feel offended by the insult that, when not verbalized,  can still be seen clearly in his eyes. Sharp teeth bite into my meat and tiny bones, but I am a well-trained rat, refusing to escape her cage.

Tonight, I wept in the arms of my sponsor, like an inconsolable child, ruining her expensive blouse. It was strange to find myself overwhelmed by something I thought I had forgotten how to do. There is just too much fear, producing a crushing vulnerability. Add a violent hatred of things unknown. Add a terrible and never-ending shame. Now, please, subtract it all.

This has to be repaired. The bridge must lead somewhere. We all get older, and it is possible to avoid wondering how it all got so complicated, how it all got in the way of progress, how it all led to a clipping of our wings. One day must not turn into any day, like all the days, with nothing to lend sweet mornings a touch of hope.

I don’t talk to the keeper of the tower these days, but I rarely lose my car keys. I can’t feel the subtle vibrations of a willow tree anymore, but I now eat my vegetables.
Make it stop.

Oh god, what have I done to myself.

December 8th, Year of Silence

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