Broken strings & Pretty things

The world, seen through a young girl's eyes.


I want to be able to scream, and cry and turn tables and shout “Look at me! Look at how broken you have made me! Can you see what you have done?” I want to be able to have a voice; to be able to make an impact; to show how I’m slowly crumbling.
But when true tragedy occurs, that’s not what you do: there comes a point when emotions rise to such a point that you can no longer feel anything anymore. Everything is numb. Everything. True tragedy springs your body into survival mode: you live each day as it passes as you realise that you can no longer to trust yourself to live too far in the future in the fear that something else may choose to destruct itself, further shattering the framework of your life. You get up, you work, you sleep. An unending cycle driven by your primal instincts take over as your body no longer wishes to compute anything else in fear that it may too destruct like everything else around it. Sleeping becomes the foundation of the routine: you get up, so you can sleep. You work, so you can come home to sleep. You sleep so that you can get away from it all. Everything just becomes too exhausting.

But the problem is, the anesthetic of pain soon begins to wear off and slowly you start to regain the blood chortling tears of pain throughout your body. Your insides become to be a vast white-hot inferno of pure emotion, yet there is nothing to extinguish the flames. Because that is what pain does. It reduces you to the fetal position. It reduces you to yearn for your mother to fix everything, because you desperately believe that she knows how.

However, the hurt means that you don’t let it show. Instead, you walk around in the empty shell of your being which is still paralysed from all of the shock and pretend that everything is okay even though you know that you’re close to breaking point. You listen to other people’s problems and try to help them as you know that you can’t fix yourself. You become to live a life of listening to avoid feeling what’s inside your core. And every so often that voice comes back in your head to shout “You’re upset because of an exam? You’re crying because you pulled a muscle in the game last night? Well my father left me. But no, please go on because you’re clearly the one that is suffering right now.”
But no. That isn’t right. So instead, you continue to be patient. You continue to listen and you continue to help until it’s finally time to go home, sleep and face it all over again.

You continue life in survival mode.


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