remembrance
.
“Just like a flower wilting away without care”
Eleonore’s flat, late evening. Present time.
I walk away from the window and drop on the couch. I sink into the pillows and attempt to think clearly, trying not to turn off my emotions again. The nightmare messing with my mind. All the dark places that I so neatly put away were now resurfacing with double force. All those images once again taking over. The things that I wanted to forget the most; it was just like having daggers constantly sinking into your flash, or maybe just into the brain. In my already confused thoughts, I couldn’t tell the difference anymore.
I close my eyes for a moment and focus on something positive. Charlie was here today, he helped. He cared about her well-being, about her health. She was no longer alone in this. The woman in the hospital, somehow her presence seemed to be helping the older woman - God knows why, but it did. For the first time, she could relate to someone’s pain, instead of just experiencing it. And not something that was bestowed on her without permission or consent. She could choose to let these emotions in, and not feel like her body and mind was being shredded, piece by piece.
But what more could she do for Clare? Could she do something for others as well? Was there a way for her to actually do something good with her life? And not just cause self-destruction to herself and hurt to the people she cared about most? A long sigh fills her lungs and escapes into the air; there were less and less of those people. She made sure of it. Not because she hated the world, but because she didn’t want the world to hate her. She caused enough damage as it was.
Eyes closed, and I could still see those images of Clare Wilson’s past. Her memories seeming that of my own, silent pictures of the past. What was her role in all of this? She couldn’t figure it out yet, but she felt that with the touch and the visions overflowing her mind, she also somehow managed to take some of the older woman’s grief away. All those emotions and pain still traveling through her veins. She could sense them, slowly moving but not harming her, instead, gluing some pieces together. She didn’t exactly comprehend what was going on with her, but there was this strange faith, that it all had a deeper meaning. That she met that older woman for a reason. I sigh, feeling a bit defeated. But soon something changes. I sense my thoughts getting more tense, darker. My body temperature seems to drop. I blow some warm air into my hands and look up.
My mind strays to my bedroom before I can control it; crawling inch by inch to the place it shouldn’t. In my head, I see a chest of drawers next to my bed. I see the stack of clothes and the box hidden under them. I close my eyes and think what day it is. I get up, get my bag and roam around for the phone. I check the calendar and flinch. Less than 3 weeks. I want to ignore what’s going on in my head and the reason why my jaw is clenched, and why all my organs seem to shrink somehow, turning into one tight ball ... but I can’t, not anymore. Now that my entire focus is glued to just one image. The bag lands on the ground with a low thud and I don’t even know what I have done with the phone. I don’t look for it, instead, I move slowly to my bedroom, not remembering how I got there or how I was able not to hit any walls or hard surfaces on my way.
I walk into the room and cross my arms as if physically wanting to stop myself from any further steps. “Don’t do it, it will only get worse if you do”. I shiver but step closer to the wooden drawer. I look for the thing that is already in my mind. I know exactly where it is. Shoved into the back, perfectly in the middle. I search for something soft and in the shape of a cube. My fingers trace pass different fabrics and finally find what they were looking for. My body freezes for a moment, but I make myself move, though it seems like the biggest mistake imaginable. Just do it, no one is watching you, no one will know. They won’t see you fall apart. Not this time.
I pull out a little silver ring out of a box. The painted daisy on it has faded by now, but it still holds meaning to me. I put it on for a moment, slowly slipping it on my middle finger as if I was afraid it would fall apart and turn to dust. I look at it for a long while and nothing happens. But just when I think I have gained some control my hand starts to tremble, and a deep sob escapes my throat. It’s so painful and loud that I feel like someone was ripping my lungs out, and then my heart and soul with it.
My lousy remains. Time passes and it gets dark in the room, yet I cannot feel the passage of it. Reality avoids me as the pain takes over. Finally the howling and tears subside, I manage to breathe again. And when the only feeling left in me is the hollowness, a round void filling me up to the limit like water in a ceramic vase. But it does not overspill, it just mutes everything. I’m done.
The ring lands back in the box and in the chest of drawers. Second drawer, deep under all my clothes. I bang it shut and try to breathe. It was almost that time. The number I had feared the most. The first year of loss. The real sound of sorrow. Bringing me back to that moment, to a dark pit of excruciating pain. A day that changed me and broke me. Something that made me stop believing in the purpose of it all.
I still missed him so much, each day equally surprised that I could exist without him. Only the thick layers of denial allowing me to breathe and function in the normal world.
There was this small part of me that hoped that with time it would get easier, but it just got different. The pain in my heart replaced by that in my head. By the whispers and shouts of those with all flavors of anger, loss, pain and the ones that shouted the most. The polluted voices that forgot what it was to feel the good and compassion. Those turned my mind upside down and threaten my fading sanity. The process made me weaker. Just like a flower wilting away without care.
Until I had met Charlie, I didn’t realize how much I had needed the water. Somebody’s selfless care and help. I locked myself away from the sun and air. I was waiting for death, but he found me and brought rain with him. Now I could fight, even if only for myself.
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Last 3 chapters
10. https://theprose.com/post/242510/action-reaction-kind-of-thing
11. https://theprose.com/post/252230/the-sounds-of-sorrow
12. https://theprose.com/post/260169/beauty-within-things
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