The Deconstruction of Death

A part of me died today. The part of me that depends on other people for approval. The part of me that thought I needed someone else. The part of me that lacked the confidence to go out into the world and get what I wanted. I held myself back, clinging onto any form of social acceptance I could find. Like a parasite, I would suck species dry. Lapping up affection. Demanding attention. Desperately wanting to be seen. To be heard. To be found.

I was waiting for someone to come save me from despair. For a beacon of hope to shine through the darkness that surrounds me. Something to set my soul ablaze and obliterate the constructs of my mind, breaking the boundaries of thought and demolishing ancient architectural paradigms. The endless arches would crumble under the weight of my salvation, my one saving grace.

What I could only hope for…

But now I’ve opened my eyes. And I accept reality. No one is coming. I lick at imaginary pools of backwashed tenderness. Crusty white dust and limestone rings now signify the feelings that once were and no longer are. There is no attention to demand. No one to see. No one to hear. No one to know that I even existed.

The stories I told myself were just that: Stories. Fictional figures of a fantasy life, forming unattainable notions of friendship, and family, and love. The best I could ever get was in the theatre of my mind, rerun after rerun, rewinding the reel over and over until it runs raw all over itself, refusing to repeat my sickened fantasy. Falsely leading me into a sense of hope for the future. A future not worth living.

But I step forward anyways. Wading through the unknown. Pushing past the pain. Addressing each issue head on, trembling with fear, cowardly, shamefully. Holding onto a tiny bit of hope that one day it could change. That one day things could be different.

I muster what little courage I own into a perceptual line of sight. I need every bit to overcome the spirit that possesses me. We are locked in a violent grip, a battle for my soul. Control of my actions. My body, my soul. This battle wages on for what feels like centuries. The casualties of war accumulating, beginning to spill over and out of the realm of the mind and into the other world. And the life of others must suffer the consequences of my actions.

But today that battle has ended. A mark in the halls of time, a scar on the cloth of history. A part of me died today. But the circle of life does not let death go to waste. Death begets life. Before I was incomplete. Now I am whole. As if that part never even existed.

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