A Moment in my Mind

She rode that feeling like it was wind beneath her wings, carrying her high over the mountains until they became too modest and insignificant to notice. This was pure bliss, she thought. She finally grasped what everyone else seemed to have, but that which she could never acquire. Granted, it was a small taste, just a sample. She knew how precious and fleeting it could be but feared the harder she held on the faster it would slip away. She wanted to embrace it, nurture it, trust it…

That’s not what she had learned time and time again to do with that emotion though. Cruel had been that which meant to break her. And if she was being completely honest with herself, she did break. She yearned to be that woman that emerged stronger and more brilliant and more durable on the other side of these trials and yet that was not her fate. She was fated to break each and every single time, shattering into more and more pieces. In the beginning there is just a crack, maybe a few pieces lie on the ground, but it is mendable. Never the same, but mendable. Then another crack appears and where the repairs are weak it all crumbles again into even more pieces. The task to restore it becomes more complicated. Over and over, she breaks and tries to mend herself the best she knows how, but in the end, there are just thousands of miniscule pieces of her scattered here and there rather recklessly. She loses some along the way because it is hard to keep track. The dust is swept away and forgotten.

She tries to recall a time when she felt whole. She searches in the recesses of her mind trying to unlock the maps that seem to want to be kept a secret. They do a good job staying hidden, they would win a game of hide-and-go-seek. Secrets are meant to be hidden, not uncovered. Every turn she makes in her mind leads to a new door and she doesn’t have the keys.

There is a bright yellow door painted with pink daisies and the sight of it makes her soul leap… she knew there must be something joyful in there. She approaches the door, listening to the laughter on the other side. She feels hope as she reaches for the doorknob and realizes she is holding her breath. She grasps the shiny knob and tries to turn it, only to find that it won’t move at all. She can still hear the happiness on the other side and wants desperately to be part of it. She taps on the door, hoping someone will let her join. She raps harder, thinking they must not hear her. She finds herself frantically slapping at the door with such force that her palms become red and tingly, and yet no one comes. Why won’t anyone come for her? She resigns herself to the fact that she will never be on the other side and shuffles dejectedly down the dim hall. Rejection stings it’s way through her body like venom.

She comes upon another door, this one nothing like the first. This door looms. It is as tall as the mahogany tree it was made from and hasn’t aged gracefully. It is weathered and splintered and has mold creeping from the perimeter to the center. She stands there in front of the beast of a door, not wanting to approach but not feeling like she should leave either. She hears nothing but the starkest silence sinewing its way from under the heavy door. If there is nothing behind the door then she has no reason to be apprehensive. Her curiosity of the silence wins over, and she takes a couple of steps forward placing her hand on the rusty knob. High pitched wailing erupts in her ears, and she crashes to her knees bruising them painfully. The wailing only intensifies as she shoves her hands to her ears to try to shut it out, discovering warm liquid enveloping her frigid fingers. She can’t understand and presses her hands harder to the sides of her head with renewed fervour, trying her almighty best to make everything stop, but it keeps pouring, pouring and the razor-sharp sound cuts through her. Images flash behind her tightly squeezed eyelids, images of things nightmares are made of. Her worst fears being shined upon the theatre screen that is her retinas, flipping one to the next leaving little time for her to catch her breath. She tries to plead for it to stop only to realize she has no voice. Why doesn’t she have a voice? It’s already being used. She now feels the screams originating in her belly and climbing up her throat, clawing their way out needing to be heard. No one can hear you sweet girl. She understands that there has only ever been silence on the other side of the door, pressing down on her like the gravity on Jupiter, and the sound made of bloodlust was coming from inside her.

Everything fades. She doesn’t want to get up and couldn’t if she tried. She lays curled in the fetal position with tears streaming down her porcelain face… how appropriately fragile. She fights the self-deprecating thoughts that overwhelm her telling her that a better woman would not have fallen. You aren’t worth it. You’re weak. You should be ashamed. You are damaged. And with every lash against her she curls tighter into herself hoping to curl into nothing.

No.

As daunting as it is, she refuses to let that be the end. She had not made it this far to let the past dictate when she would or would not stay down.

That feeling… the feeling of soaring over mountaintops… she wanted it. She was unsure if she deserved to feel it, but she aspired to keep it regardless. Fleeting? Maybe. But maybe if she flew high enough, she could find her worthiness in the clouds and forget what was below. If they wanted to keep their secrets, then let them.