Even with such a high as July 12 I’ve struggled with the urges to cut myself this week. I see the scars in the mirror from the tragedy of the past and the injustice upon my person. I feel awash in the sea in which I drown. Daily I struggle and this time of year is especially hard for me. So far I’ve resisted because I don’t want to see the disappointment of my son in his mother.
Everyone thinks I’m so strong and so brave but they don’t stand in my quaking boots nor hear my thoughts. Buried deep I still resist the strong urges to end my mortal struggle; but the voices still call. I try to release the demons and appease them with blood and for a time it works. But they always return given time and silence. They never leave me for long and in such even when light races to replace dark the shadow always exists. The darkness is stronger and unyielding. Always present and eager to reclaim all it lost in that short time when light fades.
It’s funny people look to me to make them complete when inside I feel I’m dying. I am far from complete and it seems the world can’t see. They cannot see your darkness when in the dark you’re blind. They cannot hear your cries for help when the darkness deafens all. They cannot find you when sight and sound are robbed.
My soul is glass; my mind the rock. How long until the cracks are visible to the world? How long before it shatters? How long can one stand against the tide which pulls them? Awash in endless cycle of darkened mind. Where briefly light may reign; though never complete and always fleeting.
When I seek myself and look inward deep I see a broken girl. In times alone I stand the statue cracking with time and fragile but not yet shattered. Glass once sand torn down to base and once more scattered with the wind.
In the shower I tried to wash it off but from my flesh it lives. In my eyes the reflection buried deep inside of me. The weakness buried deep and unseen by any but me. Inside I cry in silence so they will never know how close the darkness taunts me to oblivions edge. It’s like the voice of angels calling me to home and into the darkness I plunge. Make haste to hasten end to suffer and deny. That which brings forth pleasure and release if even for a time.
It’s said in weakness we find our greatest strength.
I trace the lines in the mirror.
They are invisible upon my flesh.
Seen only through the minds’ eye.
Little fractures upon my soul.
They are seen by none but me.
Fractures I will carry until the day I die.
Through them I hear the cries.
Of the demons buried deep.
Through them I hear the lies.
They repeat the cries.
Each time I look in the mirror.
The word will all arise.
Naked to the minds’ eye.
Our souls they cannot bare.
Pain the only ally.
Light is not the absence of darkness but a mere shade of darkness itself. Where darkness is a varying degree the absence of light.
-Michelle Styles August 7, 2013