Persist

I am alive purely on luck.

I put the pills in my mouth, swallowed them in little gulps,

Desperate for relief, desperate for help, for hope.

They burned their way down, hitting my stomach like bad chicken, causing me to sicken and cringe,

but I was unwilling to give in to the urge and I persisted,

one of my better qualities, I’m told.

I was angry when I woke up — angry that my persistence was ignored, angry that my stomach had rebelled and angry that I could not do even this simple thing right.

I sputtered and blinked, blinded by daylight, blinded by rage and disappointment, unsure of what to do next.

So I took my better quality and once again persisted, pushing myself though I had nothing left, determined to find something to live for when everything was gone, abandoning me like newly met friends at the party when the booze is gone and you are too busy holding on to yourself to notice that they have gone before taking your number.

I persisted like the sand in your eye at the beach, irritating and damaging but ingrained and stubborn, sometimes more harm than good being done by the effort to remove it from delicate parts of the body.

I persisted like the ghosts of Scrooge, popping up and demanding introspection and compassion, both tapped out by a soul dried up and empty because of the demands of life.

Humans demand a great deal, leaving us with only the ability to give up or go on, taking the little, shattered pieces of us and futilely putting them back together after we crash, crystal in the hands of a clumsy child, the pieces leaving little rainbows on the floor but nothing else.

I am alive purely on luck and persistence, though the latter wasn’t my choice.

It crept in like a thief in daylight, exposed and naked to the light but disguised by desperation and hopelessness. 123 take a breath, 123 take another, and fill burning lungs with false hope and broken crystal rainbows because nothing is left.

Persist because it's expected and you’re good at it despite your pain and your hopelessness. Look for stars when it's dark and colours in the mist when it rains. Hang on with broken fingernails and chapped toes. Leave no trace behind when you bleed and persist despite the hurt, despite the demands, despite the empty shell you’ve become.

Persist as rainbows and thunder, tears and blood, scars, whatever mark you leave in your dead wake, the torpedo out of its tube, three hundred and fifty pounds of exposed explosive looking for a target at sea. The explosion is expected, the sinking planned. Persist despite the shortage of lifeboats and the screams. Persist like the rime of frost in February and the fake smile you adopt in the photos, birthday cake laid out and smouldering as the off-key tune that marks another year rings out, smothering you in support and love.