I am here. Still.
I am here, yet I do not feel the euphoria of living. I am tired and sick. Diminished and damaged.
Endometriosis. A horrible cold. Fever. Sore throat. Running nose. Blocked sinuses.
I have travelled through an entire spectrum of pain over the past seven days, only to arrive… here.
I am so overwhelmingly lonely. I am accustomed to living with the sense of constant isolation, only that feeling is now layered over a strange undercurrent of not my usual discontent but something decaying. My soul – something I felt absent for two years until last October – has shown itself to be diseased and dying. It cannot keep my body healthy and it shall never lift my being above its worthlessness.
I am anguished by my failure to be more. I should be something better. I ought to be more precious. I expected life to be… different. I wanted a family.
I wanted to love and be loved.
I know I can never regenerate the decaying fabric of my soul. It can never make itself whole without that for which I shall always yearn: a family of my own; a loving husband and treasured children.
My womb and ovaries are of no use; my eggs are more decayed than my soul. My purpose is to breathe but never live and my destiny is to be worthless to every man I have ever loved. I am cursed. The hex grows darker and more powerful with every passing day. We are living in the age of wickedness and I can feel the chill of evil attacking my skin, seeping into my pores and devouring the invisible, living matter I call a soul.
My breath aches with each movement of my chest… inhaling and exhaling oxygen and pain in unison. I yearn for the caress of peace, to glide softly over my being from head to toe, healing all that is sick and grieving.
For all my failings, I have but one saving grace: compassion. I will continue to shield my loved ones from my heartache and project to the world all that I should have been yet sadly never will: strong; happy; accepted and fulfilled.
Who am I? A chameleon and a deceiver. A mirage and an illusion. I am everything yet nothing in the blink of an eye. I am carefree yet agitated with the shrug of a shoulder. I am warm yet cold with the twist of a smile. I look in the mirror and find someone and no-one, staring from the same red-rimmed eyes. My veins hold the bright blood of a living human and the blackest clots of gangrene from my soul.
I am here… this is my place; my destiny and my punishment. I cannot ever leave this place but I will never stop trying to transform it into a shelter I can call “home”. I will find a way to live here. I will make it my own… no matter how painful an endeavour it may prove to be.