Breaking My Silence... because breaking my face hasn’t worked yet

“I exist” Quietly at first, cranked out with all the rust and strain of century-old water pumps, that Brigid had no business hoarding in her throat. They were for her 17 years. Not yet. Not if you asked any of her 50 some odd or she stopped counting when they started touching her. Oops, there she goes again. Dishing out too much. Mixing her metaphors and that’s not what it means? I doubt any of them would be listening anyway. No one looked at her, yet all eyes glared in the direct spotlight of her direction.

 “I exist?!" Mom’s gasps were always the clutching of pearls, you’d think there was no more breath left in the room for anyone else.

“I. Exist.” Repeated, louder for those straining to listen through walls. “He had a room in which I could sleep in and all those fancy amenities that your po’ white trash self ain’t ever heard of like a bathtub AND a shower, you know, the kind where the water spout comes off the wall, no no, don’t panic, it’s designed that way. All I had to do was clean up after myself. Basic shit. Things YOU never expected of us unless any was coming over. Company you wanted to impress anyway. I was just talking about it. Words I was uzen to complain ‘bout the other lodger was that he was not doing the cleaning after hisself. So. What do I do? Should I need to do more? Was the fact that I did NOT fuck my brother the reason I had to leave at 17? I really need to know because YOU HAVE MY DAUGHTER!” Oh wait, I’m switching tenses, timelines, and point of view again. Time traveling really messes with your perspective. On so much. But back to the subject at hand, don’t let the wandering thoughts fool you: it is /the/ most important task I’ve ever been assigned: regain my child. Ultimately: take care and provide for.

I exist. Yeah, None of that was said. Not that on that day. Not to those people. Not when it mattered. Tiny mantras and affirmations are said about ‘what matters now are that we, ourselves, know them’ or that we might get the chance to speak for truth. Has that day come and gone? Did I stutter? Lie? Forget my line? My role? Get caught white-handed? Since all of the above is true and verifiable, so there isn’t much room for denial. And by much: there’s none. Not this time. Zero. Zilch. No wiggle room. Not like this tooth of mine. If you can call it that. It's more like getting caught with your hand in the cookie jar but instead of your hand it’s your soul or well-being and instead of the cookie jar it’s this hidden and seemingly sleek unforeseen force which slowly at first then all at once until you can no longer where it is, or if it is even around anymore, let alone describe it? No, that cannot be. It thrums in an ache that lets you forget just to remind you that both forgetting and remembering hurt. Stabbing at a wound? How nice of you.

I exist. I tried to believe myself among the taller, bolder, more confident bodies around me. Standing now in front of the ever-expanding vastness of the abyss. She repeated it again. “I exist.” How dare I, it demanded to know what right did I have? After all, that was said and done? What did I have to say for myself? I knew none of that mattered. Family members here and there, some long gone. I smiled, the truest smiled: “I exist.”

“I Exist!” this time with enthusiasm and a little more belief, almost as it was believed this time. Could it be?

“I exist. And I don’t have to spend my body, words, or time, validating myself to you. You mean nothing, you are a bully, a mangy haggard dog with no teeth, and I’m tired of being frightened but you. It stops now.” These words are very well and good, but they don’t quite seem to find their way to my mouth at the appropriate times. Perhaps, here’s to hoping against hope, sharing it out, shaking it out like a towel out the window, a yellow flag. If I might be so bold. Then a passerby might get the hint and either run. Run away to their own safety, or run in for an attempt to assist in mine. Though there are those that see them as warning flags and know how to dig into the wound just right, just to have a bed to sleep in for the night. Or as long as you’d let them. But not me.

I exist. Beyond all that, I soar above the pain and scars and see the path ahead that rises up to greet my feet. These are not thorn buses that surround me, but my own roses! Silly me. How lovely the blossoms look from the distance. How perspective can change your outlook, and point of view. A rest, change of scenery. Can give you such a breath of fresh air and a new approach to what you once thought was stagnant or stacked up against you. Just as I thought those now decades ago. Oh! yes: I exist.

I exist. And far more beyond that, not to spite you or because of you at all. I flourish, I overflow, and I spill over into inspiration and influence for so many others. Little do you know because little do you look. Little do you open your eyes to see. But. Oh yes, I exist.

I exist. Not just for me or my own. I couldn’t be that selfish. Even they understand that life is about turning your hands to give to the other. I exist. You wouldn’t understand. You wouldn’t be bothered to find the time to try. But while I am still mewling away on this earth, or the next: I exist for her. 

I exist. Typing here, sometimes there, or sometimes Nowhere. Thinking. Formulating plans. Timing traveling. Re-re-remembering. Forever working towards my one and only goal: Getting her back. Once that happens we can return to our life of lavish, fun, meaningful, purpose.

I exist: for Her. Furthermore, I exist for myself. I exist for us.