It was dark that night, and very lonely to the girl. Who was this girl, you may ask. But that is of no importance. All you should know is that the girl was lost, and afraid.
Afraid of what, you ask next. Herself, I, the wise story teller answers. She was afraid of her desires, and of her needs. Now you may say that this girl was a bad one to write a story about, but I assure you she is not what she seems.
You see, she has just received news of the loss of her beloved brother. A few years older than she, and much wiser than she could ever hope to be, he was the only family she really had. And he has been taken from her, needlessly, and now she was alone.
So when I say she was afraid of her desires, it was not the kind your mind jumps to. Not ones of pleasure, but ones of pain. Not ones of love, but ones of hate. Self hate. Self pain. Self harm. “Desires no human should ever have to deal with,” she told herself. But then she countered her own statement, “But I no longer feel human so I suppose it is okay.”
As she lifted the tiny blade from its hiding place, she sighed as fear pushed bile to her throat. She swallowed hard, and willed herself to fall into the old patterns, the dance of self hatred to which she had not stepped to in what seemed like ages. As the warm life liquid flowed freely, she sighed. The numb lost its hard edges and she began to feel again.
The fear gone now, she focused on the pain, and repeated the dance, over and over, until she lie in a pool of warm crimson and tears of falling life. Never before had she pushed herself this far, and she didn’t regret a moment of it. Her brother’s face loomed above her, smiling. She tried to reach for him, but failed. She tried to call to him, but her voice would not sound.
What have I done?! She exclaimed through her increasingly sluggish thoughts. Thomas, save me!!! She tried to call through her mind, but his face got further and further away.
“THOMAS!!” her last whole breath, her last complete thought, used on the one person who would never hear her….
Days later, she awoke. Instantly she knew she had been hospitalized. Again. She no longer fought the straps, only winced as they brushed the stitched up trenches through her arms. One day she would be with Thomas again. One day, but not today. And as tears poured down her face, she realized she was not crying because of her failure, but because she was alive. She was alive to start over, to be free, and most of she was alive to be alive. She breathed in a deep breath. “Thank you Thomas…. Thank you for not letting me slip through the cracks… Rest in peace dear brother….”
The story of a girl who found her way. The story of a girl who had a new start. The story of a girl worth writing about. The story of a girl, written by the girl, so that her story can inspire. So that it can help. So that she can make a difference. The story of me.
Tue Jun 23, 2009 12:25 pm