Blues For The Broken Heart

My internal orchestra continues to beat, but the tune is quite different. Almost classifying itself into a melody of betrayal, accusations, and escaping from the ones who ought to protect — when those nearest to us prove to be the most harmful. Once, and many times again.

That was the life I had before all the conflict arose; the life of a beautiful sonata, purity, faith. The tune was smooth and its rhythm was fully in harmony with every note conveying and reflecting love of one’s family and security. But then, just as suddenly as forte increases loudly to fortissimo, abuse reached out to disrupt the quiet rhythm. The allegro of suffering was expressed as the vicious words and nasty actions, every single one – the sharp note in the body fabric. I lost the normal pulse of days and nights; my days were filled with fear and confusion, while nights I had only pain instead of the earlier melodious tunes of normalcy.

Memories kept under pillow suddenly arose, for this treachery was not unfamiliar to me. The correct tempo for false accusations of yesterday was a blue tone colour – the orchestra of horror. As if the key of the music had shifted to the minor, murderous thoughts were being thrown around me, tainting everything I did, replacing it for notes I did not play. The accusatory motifs can be best translated as stinging – every one of them was a stab in the back thrust of disbelief. The volume continued to rise steadily, all my objections silenced with the symphony of deceit created by the ones I used to believe in. My song changed and the tune was a bitter note, completely off key, as I fumbled in a world that was no longer friendly.

And then, the desperate adagio of flight that was dramatic, grim and uncommon for big films of the period. In an attempt to escape the non-stop loud noise of sheer lies and multiple reflections of falsely created characters, I turned into a homeless from my own life. The tempo increased as a flee to simply blend into the crowd, and the piano played a lonely tune of survival in each pause. I had finally established a routine of sorts; my new pattern based on the art of camouflage and evasion.

Time elapsed in this composition of a wanderer’s existence; days lived to prove that one will survive despite the odds. The melody of my soul while it was caved up and broken, still sang, and that is how I understood what strength was. However, signs of post traumatic stress were apparent and the music had left behind the tell-tale signs on the stage. Themes of trust and belonging which use to fill the story were now overshadowed by the melody of loneliness and suspicion.

The family which used to be the foundation of the symphony that I was building my life around had become the movement of the night. Their depravity rang down every beat; the clamour of desertion in the absence of contracts drummed in their ears. Depression seeped into my soul becoming the steady lento of loneliness, of realizing that whilst I hummed about what could have been, those one time lovelies had moved on without me.

However, a ray of hope was not far off, as there were intervals of strength. The andante of identity reconstruction arose instances of lucidity and courage, where I began writing a new story from the betrayal’s ashes. Though the notes were changed, I sought subtlety in places, a friend being kind, a stranger comforting me, and thus, created new chords out of the remainders of life.

In the allegretto of healing, I resumed talking, or rather I began to get my voice back. The crescendo of resilience started rising within me, the music of asserting myself on the people who wanted to make me voiceless. The beat was as confident as the pulse inside my chest, beating against my past and not allowing the dissonance of my future.

Today, when considering the symphony of my soul, one can notice many layers and colors. It is a cloth of shocking and victory, cheating and combating. The discordant notes may have not stopped my music, but enriched and strengthened it with their terrible beauty.

Those who used to be the cause for the deepest pain that I had, accidentally introduced to me the concept of forgiveness and the hardness of the heart. Allegro of survival went on with the bass line of it all, signifying the story of survival that played on and on within me with every note — the sound of repair.

The changes of my score, the louder and more dramatic the leaps and dives in my life’s game, have highlighted that the theme of the string is not the distress or the misfortune but the bagatelle of the fight. In any case, the tremolo of betrayal and abandonment reverberate, but they have become harmonized with the discovered self and strength. For anyone who is out there still on a similar struggle, hope you hear the psalm inside all the noise and the paean of pain. Let the andante of self-care, the legato of resilience, and the lento of healing lead you to a theme in which hope is played again. You are the author of your own music and with that, it must be a melody of valor, endurance and finally victory.

♡︎ Thank You For Reading ♡︎