Tell A Tale in 500 Words
Innocence and Strife By Laura Kirk
Every day bears fruit to similar structures yet holds no semblance to time. Joy evades me. The more life appears to settle into place the unease, ever familiar, burrows into the darkest fringes of my very being. My mind thrives on the stress, uncertainty, ill-support. Days become monotonous for the shadows that creep in. Those moments, desperate and hollow, allow me a black hole where I can perceive nothing - and everything. The senses recoil and scream, the notion of being weak is enough to shut it all down. Dreams become my flight of escape, yet even they are vicious and confuse with disturbing secrets. My numbness is my only comfort.
It eats away at me. My earliest memories are that of a child, clutching to the fear that somehow had come to support her existence. Even at that tender age she could feel the gnawing, penetrating and festering inside her soul. It manifested itself in many ways; the constant thumb-sucking, the withdrawal, the silence. For fear of speaking out of turn. Out of truth. She would sit at the window and pray to the stars, a lone tear gliding down a face of tainted innocence until exhaustion took its toll. There she slept and there she stayed for fear of her bed and the memories that dwelled from within. The realisation soon hit her. Trauma does not dwell in the bed adorned with flowers, but in the deepest, darkest recess of the mind. Release is key, but the strength needed to unlock her very own Pandora’s Box is waning, with the compassion to meet it forever elusive of her grasp.
Sometimes there are days when I feel that I am rotting, as though this vessel that I have chosen refuses me. I am slowly fading away, the day too unbearable to contend with. The worst of it doesn’t preside in my body, however, for that is just a physical manifestation of something far submerged. No. The real destruction comes from the far reaching depths of my subconscious leaking, drop by drop, into the precipice of my waking world. Anxiety evades my barriers and encompasses my soul. It stirs doubt and boils fear, sometimes raising the temperature for good measure. It engages my body to scream and my mind to twist in a spiral that plummets me mercilessly into an endless abyss. I quickly learn that I would be the one supporting myself. Just as everyone else was trying to support their own nightmares.
The crumbling ruins of my foundation lay in a sorry mess around my feet. How can my body support my mind when it was stripped from the start?
I look down at the rubble of my past and feel the shards give way to the weight of my soul. There isn’t much to see on the outside while scars lay hidden. Block by block I start to lay my life. It may be a mediocre attempt, but healing has to start from somewhere.
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