Sit with it.

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Some familiar feelings leave you addicted to them. Sometimes, all you need is a conversation, a phrase, and it transports you back to wanting to curl yourself back in bed.

I physically hurt myself when the pain of spoken words becomes unbearable to carry. I came from parents who left me to figure out my potential, leaving me alone to grow roots so deep that I could fend for myself. I didn’t win the lottery of the womb; worse, I was dealt bad cards, which left me without a choice to play.

Today, I feel like physically hurting myself. A punch in the face, bumping my head on the wall, or pinching myself so hard that you'd see the shadow of my nails that will wear off too. I feel like an elephant's feet have stomped on my heart again, which makes me want to grab a knife and just free myself from this pain.

In my tiny bubble where I found solace in the presence of nobody, technology has been both a friend and a foe. And today, she was the latter.

My nemesis did it again. In her innocent ways, she managed to warp me back to days when I shouldn’t say no. That I was a marionette, and moving against her will would cut the strings that would lead to my death.

And that is exactly what I did today. I moved against her will and it pains me. I’m not a good daughter. I didn’t value all her work for putting me in school, for feeding me, for putting a roof above my head. My quest for her validation is bigger than the whole sky and it pains me to just say the magic word: no.

Yet, I still did the unimaginable and stood by the boundaries I had to create on my own accord.

I can feel the throbbing of my heart. I feel every inch of my body wanting her to love me and my craziness, yet, I decided to sit still, grab my laptop, and describe what I am feeling right now, just so I can keep my hands busy and maybe eventually tired so I won’t have to lift them and hurt myself. In between, I would light a cigarette to feel myself slowly killing what is already dead inside.

I want to hurt myself. I want to hurt myself so badly it’ll rip me open.

But I guess this is the pain I was addicted to. The excruciating pain of the ripping of the strings that once tied me to my puppeteer. THIS IS THE PAIN and I just have to feel it to free myself of it. The throbbing pain in my chest for saying no, the tingling sensation in my body that is not accustomed to freedom.

I stare blankly at the monster that I've morphed into - the bad daughter, the woman who won’t listen, the child who stands her ground and her truth. I am a monster in her terms –

But in the world I've learned to create for myself, I am not. I am simply a woman who knows how to listen to her gut. A child who wants to play and walk barefoot and imagine a forest from a small garden.

This pain is necessary and there is no need to compound it with another one. I just have to sit with it.



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