My body is a hostile place.
An old garden that somehow withered because no one has taken care of it. A pool of negative thoughts has drowned what is left of it.
My soul is lost.
The weight of uncertainty that pulls the world down is taking its toll on me. It feels like I will never amount to anything and so I'll always be trapped in this skin that itches to be set free.
Today feels like
yesterday
like the day before
and the day
before that.
My tongue tastes the monotone fear that has frozen my bones since last winter. I wonder if I am ready to fight it or if I will always feel as though a blanket of snow covers my senses. I walk to the mirror, hoping it pulls me back to reality and I no longer feel as a spectator of the world; at last claiming agency of my own body.
Looking back at the empty shell that observes me from the reflection, I realise we are two sides of the same coin. We both look tired from the ongoing war that takes place in our bodies. We both wear a mask every day to protect everyone: but who protects us from ourselves?
I can tell she has looked at Death in the eyes the way I did months ago. I can tell she was scared to walk outside the door in case our bodies would be attacked: a common reaction in those who attempt to kill themselves, since a part of us wants to end it all and so our brain feels in constant danger. The murderer and the victim coexisting in the same body. But who will win?
I touch the mirror and water lilies emerge from our fingers. I feel this as a promise of something better that is yet to come. She suddenly has shorter hair than I do; and I can see how she embraces herself, a butterfly ready to break its cocoon and fly away.
And then she holds me. Staying with me. After a long summer of hibernation, she asks me if we can flourish straight into spring. Healing.
[20/11/2020, 10:24] Lidia: Can the attacker become our protector?
[20/11/2020, 10:30] Lidia: Perhaps if I raise a white flag
you will become a lover of our own skin.
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