I don’t remember being so used to hiding myself. I don’t remember how the hate started forming, I just remember it running deeply in me like it’s my own blood. Hating myself became a second nature, a need for me to survive. I don’t remember being in peace with myself or in my own reflection, i just remember the feeling of gripping my skin so tight in hopes that it breaks, wishing it disappeared. I still can’t recall why I started blaming myself and when the unbearable everlasting knot starting getting bigger and heavier in my chest, hurting my bones from inside out, cracking my ribs open and tearing me up. But even in that moment, when i’m left in agony, tore in to pieces, i would not let myself be raw, i would just be empty — with no feelings to be found , not a single emotion would go through my face when i’m slowly leaving my body. The biggest burden of them and the hardest to bury deep in the ground would be that the light from
my eyes wasn’t erased, it was just long gone to begin with. I was not born like this. I was pure and I was sweet, all I knew was love and when the first knife cut through my skin, the betrayal was louder the pain. I thought I was tough enough, I thought I could come back up unfazed, not comprehending the fact that I was just slowly becoming numb, thar I was slowly losing myself and losing against the venom of the world, becoming addicted to it.
The more I pushed myself, trying to find a way out, the deeper I let myself be pulled back and the more I started to rot. But my body wasn’t yet discomposing, my limps were still intact, my brain could still function. Deep down, the internal scars that no one could see or even understand, were left bleeding. They were open, they were oozing with blood and were infected by the same venom that wanted me dead.
So even after after everything, even if I can still feel the knives, breaking my skin and tearing my organs up, even if I can feel the knot becoming stronger than me, pulling me through the ground and even if the venom is srill in me, changing me, killing me — even after all this time, I am still breathing, I am standing on both of my feet, breathing in and breathing out, I’m still unsure if i’m alive.
