Pandora's Box

It's funny how life works. I've finally been able to experience a sunrise and a sunset without feeling that heavy emptiness.

On foreign shores, I've found and lost and rediscovered love. I rebuilt my ship, planned my journey, and have begun my voyage yet again. Comrades have come and gone. Pirates have plundered and taken my treasures. Yet I've mustered up the strength to sail again. For the one most important thing I've learned so far is that life waits for no one.

But it's really funny, this human condition of ours. That saying, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words shall never hurt me", must be the biggest lie to have ever been spurred. Whoever's lips those words were first uttered was utterly foolish. Words, unlike sticks or stones, cut the deepest wounds and leave the biggest scars. And these intangible lacerations, many times, are inconceivably deadly.

Foolish are the people that continue to give it countenance.

"You're just like your mother."

Such small words, consummated by a lack of any thought. Yet on the ocean I sailed so bravely, with a ship I built with blood, sweat, and tears, my ship crumbled on such an iceberg.

I felt so stunned, at the angry pang of bitterness that flooded within, and at the damned iceberg that pretended to be my kin. I sat shaking on the cold, stone floor, hastily wiping away the burning tears that poured.

Instantly, I was 14, standing in the shower fully clothed, a razor blade in one hand, watching the blood pour from the other, crying silently. Once the pain inside had slowed to a dull ebb, I slid down into the corner and watched the blood and tears mingle with the cold water that ran noisily down the drain.

I felt the darkness sweep me back into it's arms, as if it were just waiting in the sidelines, waiting for those words to be spoken, like the key to Pandora's box.

I sat for a bit, shaking away visions that haunted me, and tried to get my breathing back to normal. It took a bit of praying and a lot of talking to the ceiling to remind myself how fortunate I am.

I've taken so many things and people and opportunities for granted. Though I may break down from thoughtlessness, I can't forget that I'm half way up from six feet under.

This melancholy, though persistent, has been a better room mate than desolation.

I have much less laundry to do.