Rosie here, sorry it's been so long. My muse has been hiding and I got a Job (yes it deserves the capital letter). Fun times. Anyway, I just recently got a review on this story that sparked something in me. So I'd like to thank AnotherAnon for that. And I'd like to say this is entirely for you.
"Do you know what it is, to be unmade?" - Clint Barton, Avengers
The world sees only what I wish them to see. I create my façade after watching others. I see them hurt, and be hurt. What good is being human, if it means pain and suffering? I have been wronged in this lifetime. Betrayed by those I thought family. I have been burned. I have been scorned. I have locked away my feelings so tight, not even I knew what they were. I have locked away my ability to connect with others, for fear of doing just that. How can I bring myself to trust, when I have been betrayed in the darkest of ways? I live a lie. I mold myself to fit a situation to others' needs. I am everything and I am nothing. And so I cannot be touched. There is no fire and no pain. No betrayal.
And yet there is less laughter. There is no purity. There is no fullness to my life. I am alone. I grieve for the days of naiveté. When all was simple, and I could hide from the world by closing my eyes. I long for the days where my heart wasn't shattered and I could be at rest. Where peace was found in dreamless sleep. I long for the days where "I promise" meant something, and wasn't just a lie. I long for the ignorance of children, which was destroyed, so very quickly.
I am but a shell of my former self, for I trust no one and I live in cautious wariness. I hide caution for fear of being singled out. I am the shadow in the corner. I am not recognized, and I am not worth remembering. I am the "Quiet One." A dangerous being, for I fight like a cornered animal. I do not bluster and when I threaten I am honest. I despise being lied to and so I refuse to hold my tongue, unless doing otherwise would pose a threat to me. I have been described as "brutally honest" and "harshly cynical." I am an outcast without reprieve. I am beaten down and almost smothered. I find myself disgusting. Worthless. What good is someone who fits the description "damaged goods?"
It has taken me the longest time to figure out the answer to the last question. And when I discovered it, I laughed at myself. (I'll admit it was hysterical laughter). For the answer was, in and of itself, so simple as to be rendered insignificant. Damaged, even though not perfect (and really, who would date to claim to be perfect?), means alive. And, at the end of the day, if I'm alive, have I not succeeded? If I have gathered up the strength to fight the feelings of worthlessness and hate, I have accomplished something. If I have accomplished something, I must have a purpose in life. And if I have a purpose in life, then it is my responsibility, and my privilege, to fulfill that purpose. The phrase "everyone is unique" may be a cliché, but if you really stop to think about it, you'll realize there has to be some truth to it, or we still wouldn't know what fire is or how to make it.
Finding a purpose in life isn't easy. (Yes I know I'm stating the obvious but sometimes it needs repeating). If I can fight, I know others can. I am not as strong as people think I am. But I have hope that I will get stronger and will learn to trust again.
Lots of love,
Sally
(ARW)