By Sophie Ann
The Pain Sits There
It sits in my stomach, like a balloon. just blocking the path for food, keeping me full for starving days. The pain sits there, making me feel sick and weighed down by the regret and things I should’ve said, and the things I shouldn’t of. A silent tear roles down my face and I picture you, standing there perfectly pixelated at the bus stop, smiling as I come to a stop at your side. Your freshly cut, blonde hair, ribbon, tied into parallel pigtails, just swinging above your shoulders. A long neat tie lying low underneath your top button, shirt tucked into a black pleated skirt. I can never look at knee length socks and skirts in the same way again, you suited them so nicely. Your piercing eyes gleaming as your bright smile infects another onto my face.
It sits in my throat, like a rough spikey tennis ball, making it hard to breath as that one song comes on, or that one view reminds me of who was my best friend. I told you a lot of things, you listened and helped, in the silent comforting way. You didn’t judge. You just loved.
Words of Self Hatred
The pain grows throughout my body. It grips onto my shoulders and drags me down, it whispers regrets and guilt into my ears. Words of self hatred and doubt that eat away at me day in, day out. The pain, it sits in my throat and twists every so often, making the tears spill from my exhausted eyes, making the flashbacks begin once again.
It sits in my mind, like an empty pocket of air, nightmares and depression. It keeps my head banging, like a drum, constant shouting and screaming of silent words.
“you don’t deserve it”
“you hurt her”
“it should be you”.
The pain replays the first few days of excruciating torture that lowered my entire physical and mental state by 134%. Like a broken disc, it buffers and freezes at the most heart breaking points. The moment where I screamed and cried as my whole body hurt. The moments I prayed to God to save her, to make sure she was okay. I cried into my boyfriends arms, one of the few times I’ve ever cried in front of someone. The moments I lay in bed facing the cold plain ceiling, too full of regrets to eat. Tears running down my face by my ears, life so ruined there seemed no point in trying.
The Pain Rots Me From The inside
It sits in your chair, the chair that has been sat on by other humans, but will always remain. Your chair. The pain stabs me in the heart when someone sits in it, twisting the knife to remind me that you’re not sitting there.
It sits everywhere. In the park where we laughed. At the bus stop where we complained. At our friend’s where we played. On the bus where we sat. In the classes where we chatted. In the lives that you touched so peacefully. And now the pain controls me.
In the best way I can describe it, the pain rots me from the inside, slowly emptying everything that I am and replacing it with a vacuum of numbness that devours any emotion that shall appear. It decomposes my happiness and replaces it with more segments of depression, anxiety or fatigue that quietly pull me closer and closer to the same place she has unnecessarily gone.
It should’ve been me.
Reproduced with permission, originally posted here