As i wearily pick up my armor he says “you might want to stay away from me. I’m sick.” Little does he know i stay away from him on general principal now.
And tired of fighting every day of my life. I pick up my sheild and sword the moment i wake up from the nightmares i wasnt able to bring my defences to. I leave the battleground of my subconscious wounded, dried blood, and enter the battleground of waking life. Every minute of every day until the rest go to sleep i fight. I fight all the training and voices and guilt over nothing that were instilled in me by voices of controlling men. Be a nice girl, do what you’re told, even if it takes a toll on the woman you’re trying to become.
But I’m smart enough to notice the lies one by one as i fight, and with every victory celebration it’s brief, as i can’t lay my armor down and rest. Because life doesn’t rest.
The reason i constantly fight is because i want to get better. I want to get better faster and put all the sleepless nights and tears behind me. Only now at 22, four months away from 23, am i able to look back on pictures and words I’ve written and not cry inside. One by one the pictures don’t hurt. My mind is letting go of the girl i was when i was hurting. And that’s okay. Because she is me and I’m alive when others have told me they’re surprised i am.
As i sit here in my warm clothes on my bed, a hand-me-down mattress and box spring, in my concrete and mortar house with thin windows and no insulation, air conditioner on the “fan” setting humming behind me in makeshift lighting i am at peace with myself finally, if only for a moment. These humble digs as i humbly dig, brushing the feathers that used to be weights from my chest and mind. I’m fine.
Days like this come after weeks or months of fighting. Days like this come when i don’t have any outside responsibilities and i can sleep till my body needs me. And even then all i do is void myself because i can’t bring myself to eat or take *pills.
I don’t eat much anymore. I get my calories from carbonated drinks because anxiety requires i take a gulp every few minutes. And i don’t know the science but the caffiene helps the depression stay away. And as for the sugar, I’m hypoglycemic anyway and i exercise and i haven’t been gaining weight.
That’s what’s important, right? I can’t gain weight because that increases the likelihood of problems and problems run in my family. My dad died at 61 from heart problems. He wore a medium in t-shirts but he was diabetic. And he didnt take all his prescriptions. And bc of the hell he/we went through with my brother he actually lost his mind a little and became abusive…to me. I guess you can say i lost my mind a little, too. I’ve lost a lot of things. But we’re not gonna talk about that now.
We’re not gonna talk about it because now i am at a place where my mind is actually calm and that’s rare. Only one other person has been home today and he’s in his room sick. Maybe if he cleaned something once in a while he wouldn’t get sick so often. Or maybe it’s all those customers. Anyway, I’ve been enjoying the peace…and quiet. Usually i have YouTube playing while i do things bc i get anxious if it’s not. Today it’s just been the fan. Every few sentences i check Messenger bc I’ve been talking to my mom. Not about this but she’s telling me her things. Hold on.
I’m back. It was about 3:30 when i started writing this (fourth wall break much?) and it’s now 6:52. My mind is calm if only for a moment. And rarely, hours that feel like a moment. But you can’t rush recovery. Right now i am not fighting. But i am peering over the ledge, the brick turret balcony, my armor stored inside me because that’s where it’s been all along. Forged from misery, by desperation, and hardened by determination.
Iron from blood, iron to armor.
*the pills are just Zyrtec, St. John’s Wort, and pain pills.
It is now 7:30 after editing punctuation. I left the i’s lowercased to represent my armor being laid down and to represent my energy.
The second-to-last sentence in the poem was me pointing out the irony…oh man…that’s a pun…bc iron…i love myself, lmao. The irony of how we literally have armor in our blood…bc iron…metal… I’ll go now. 😂
I am @kingofmy-delicate-heart and @leannadawnmusic and a lot of other blogs.
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