I feel you.
I’m probably the only one who does. No, I’m sure I’m the only one.
I know how you feel. I know what you are going through.
I know the paralyzing pain devouring you from the inside out like a fat insatiable maggot. And don’t even try to say it’s all good! You know it’s not!
You know you’d rather scream and cry and rip the flesh off of your bones. You know your inside is burning. Admit it! Say it! SAY IT!
You know the pain is spreading through your body like poison. Doesn’t it feel like a volcano after it erupted? Like lava swallowing everything that dares to be its way?
Say it! How long are you going to play the tough girl who has all her shit together? How much longer do you want to wear that toxic mask, that contaminated your spirit, ripped your loving heart apart, and distorted your beautiful smile to a pathetic freaky grin? Don’t you realize that this mask is a nasty parasite?
Don’t you feel its tendrils digging its way into every cell of your being, sucking the life out of you? It’s like a cancer having a feast, and the only thing you do is ask if he wants some more!
Look at you, you poor thing! You look all beaten up. Wilted and shriveled like a dead flower whose time has run out. Defeated. Where’s that sparkling glow in your eyes? Where’s the thirst for life? Where’s the warmth in your once so-contagious smile? The electrifying love in your touch? Your neglected hands are cold as ice. And so is your smile. Your words are like ice picks. Your tone freezes the blood in my veins.
You’re nothing more than the reminiscences of the pulsing force of nature you once were. A dusty memory.
When was the last time you looked in the mirror? When was the last time you saw what creature you turned into?
No, stop! I already know the answer. I know what you want to say. I know it’s yet another lie served on a silver plate. Side-dished with all the reasons why it is how is, disguised as delicious canapés and petit-fours. Do you really think you can fool me?! Heck, who do you think I am?!
You know what, I’m sick of your lies. Year after year you’re promising me to change. To get your shit together. To take responsibility for your life. To be the captain at the wheel, and steer your life in the direction YOU want. To go all in. And here we are – nothing changed. Just more lies. More excuses.
What about the paintings at the bottom of your drawer? And the poems and story ideas you jotted down? You buried them underneath piles of unopened mail! You promised to share them!
Instead of tearing down the gigantic stone wall, you have meticulously erected around your well of creativity, you’re raising it higher and higher. Don’t you realize that you’re already standing on your toes to catch even the slightest glimpse of the world behind it? Don’t you see that it doesn’t need much for you to stumble? Just one shiver, one sneeze, and it all crumbles. Leaving you lying bare-breasted in the mud in no man’s land.
But I feel you, love. I know it’s hard. And I know you can make it. But you have to stop lying to yourself.
Do you hear me? YOU HAVE TO STOP LYING!
The clock is ticking. Your time is running out. The navel cord connecting you to the nourishing womb of life is drying out. The once fleshy roots that anchored and fed you, are rotting!
If not for you, do it for your precious child! Or do you want her to suffer the way you do? Do you want her to write another tragic story with no happy ending? Is that what you want for her? She doesn’t deserve to be raised by a wannabe. Don’t TELL her that life is beautiful. SHOW her that life indeed IS beautiful!
Yes, my dear, I feel you. For the last time: Stop lying, and let me guide you.
For now, I leave you alone. Wallow in your fetid, oozing self-pity if you want to. Let me know whenever you’re ready. I can wait.
The misty picture fades in my mind. The last piercingly sharp but soft-spoken words turn into a humming in my ears until there is nothing. Silence. Once again that grave silence. With my body being tense like a freshly strung Cello chord, I force myself to roll over, quietly cursing my creaking bed. Praying that my daughter doesn’t hear the echo of my pounding through the darkness, I bundle up like a fetus and bury my face in the now-wet pillow to mute the raging sounds that are boiling up inside.
Yes, I admit it!
I stammer barely audible and cuddle up in the comforting blanket of darkness giving in to the soothing hug of the netherworld for tonight.
You are right!