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I was bored ... and hormonal
| CARMEN A. RILEY |
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|| && It's Not My Time
Group: VICTIMS!
Posts: 191
Member No.: 2
Joined: 10-January 08
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IS IT STILL A STAIN IF YOU CAN’T SEE IT … She doesn’t remember how it feels to breathe. To just breathe normally, without thought or worry of the pain in her chest. It feels like every breath she takes, every damn one, is a twisting prick that echoes throughout her whole body. She’s had herself checked out and they can’t say that anything is physically wrong with her but there must be. There’s something stuck in her lungs, her throat, her chest. Something is hurting her. It isn’t her damned imagination. They don’t say it but she knows they’re thinking it. Oh no, they wouldn’t dare. No one questions her sanity. They should. But they don’t.
Is she questioning her own sanity? Very soon, she will be. This infliction, this insubordination of her own body, is driving her mad. How can there be nothing wrong with her? She can’t breathe without a damn lump in her throat. Sometimes it feels like there’s a porcupine stuck inside her. It hibernates in her chest, moving around until it finds a comfortable nesting spot and then lays low for awhile. There are times when she can breathe normally but those times are short and rare. Mostly when she’s eating. That damn porcupine is starving her, leeching off her body like a parasite. She’s never seen a porcupine before but she’s sure the one inside of her is a fat sloth with beady red glowing eyes. It’s evil and it won’t let her rest.
The kitchen has become a haven for her lately. It’s the only time she feels any rest. When she’s stuffing her face, there’s a slight reprieve. She can breathe. The food goes in easily enough but then it settles like a guilty rock in the pit of her stomach and she immediately feels the need to expel it. No, she won’t take the easy road and purge it out the way it came. She’s going to punish herself even more.
Her arms are stronger now than before, legs too, thanks to the stress-relieving exercises. The others watch her, careful to not make a comment or raise their eyebrows too many times. They ask what she’s doing this for, why she spends hours upon hours disciplining her body but she has no answer. No sane one anyway.
Even though her chest is on fire when she’s done, she only takes five minutes before she’s back up on her feet, throwing herself into more training. What is she training for? To be stronger, to be better? No, there’s no real point to this training. The only thing she’s working off is her guilt. Only when she can’t stand anymore, when her knees start to give in, that’s when she stops. Not a minute before. She wants to fight this thing inside of her, punish it for taking residence inside what she had assumed to be impenetrable stronghold. It punishes her back by stealing her breath, shifting around until its spiky armor has sent cold chills of pain all through her. It’s a vicious cycle but she doesn’t know what else to do.
The others, they suggest to her that it’s something emotional, not physical that’s plaguing her like this. She argues with them, sure that she has those pesky things called ‘emotions’ in check. Naturally, they argue back to which she only shuts them out and takes her leave. Some stay behind, shaking their heads and some follow, trying to get her to open up to them. Neither approach works. She’s more likely to shower with a bear than to express any feelings she might be having. The only feelings she has is anger and desperation. Anger at the fact that something is happening to her that she cannot control and desperate for a solution to a problem she cannot fix. Are there others?
Sometimes, when she sees … them, there are other feelings that surface. But she smashes them down before they can develop into something larger and destroy her already teetering sanity. She can’t be made into a simpering, blubbering fool. Tears aren’t allowed. She’s an adult now and must maintain composure. But its during those moments of weakness that she can feel the ache in her chest worsen and she knows that’s her problem. Her attachment to them is making her sick. They brought this porcupine with them in hopes that it would weaken her, soften her up so that they could come in and take her over. Then, they would wait until her defenses were lowered and they would crush her castle within. Again.
The rational side of her brain argues with her, tells her that they have no idea and even if they did, are they really to blame? She was the one who left, the one who made the decision that she didn’t need them anymore. Yes, for family but was that enough of an excuse? Were they not entitled to an explanation? She fights rationale with, ironically, an emotional barrage. Her pain, then and now, is caused by them and she has every right to inflict just as much of it back. They don’t even know who she is. She is only dead to them, a fading memory that will soon be forgotten. Why bother reconnecting when there is nothing left to reconnect with? That person she was, they no longer existed.
There’s a wound in her throat. Every time she swallows, her saliva burns against it. Sometimes, she thinks she can manage the pain but other times, it nearly brings her to her knees. But she can’t lose to it. This pain will be overcome, once the stain of her guilt washes away. It’s only a matter of time before her emotions become too dead to be revived again and then, she can breathe normally again.
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 ONCE YOU GET IN TOUCH WITH YOUR INNER WOMAN
SHE MAY TAKE OVER
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