Imbalance

I sat purposely in front of my round crisp mirror, patiently watching how my fragile chest slowly rise and fall, making no difference to my breast size and noticing how there was no attraction, no appeal to this action like most women. It was simply my body’s involuntary attempt to keep me alive. Disgusted, but expected. I shift my tired gaze to my face realising how pale I am and how my skin just sat there hopelessly tugging tightly against my brittle infrastructure of bone. One simple movement and I was convinced my skin would crack and paint my lifeless complexion crimson red, from the fear of watching my innocent self bleed out I purposely entered a hypnotic state following the swirling, twirling of overlapping veins in my forehead, the pulsing of my blood moving as if it was choreographed. My own private dance exhibit. I was good at these types of things, exhuming fear and then distracting myself, a talent I mastered as a little child. You could tell if you looked close enough that I was not like other people, not bold nor confident, you could tell I’ve been used, torn apart, put back together and used again. I did not mind, I promise I do not mind. I slowly realise that the presence of my weight on the well kept bed did not disturb the clean sheets, instead the comparison of the sheets and my body exacerbated the washed out bruises and marks that trailed down from my hands to my legs. This is the first time i've worn a dress. My still position along with the elegance of my lavender dress made it look as if I was placed gently by a cosmic figure, one preferably with the mind of a mathematician, as it takes great precision and patience to mimic the arrangement I am in. If my mother could hear my thoughts she would argue that this ‘thing’ is God and then she would scream and display her love and affection to me through the carelessness of her foul language and her heavy hand. She misunderstood me, she always did, for I did believe in God just not that he was a loving one, but one which thrived on the agony of cries from his people, one that played with the lives of the innocent as if he had some sort of resentment for the weak. God is not all loving because he himself does not understand what love is. God has not sacrificed his mental state for the healing of others, God chooses not to interfere and save the people who need saving, God is not testing us he is punishing us for his own pleasure. That is my God. Furious with pain,anguish, and anger, my holy trinity, I noticed that I finally disturbed the organisation of the sheets with the grasping of my fist. I let go. 

The room was plain, no colour apart from my dress, legs, and arms. I sacrificed myself, my happiness for the people I love. For broken people which I love. If it was not for my stupid courage to voulnteer as a punching bag, my parents would have murdered eachother, but they could not murder blood. I was simply their middle ground. A cold drop of damp solution attacked my leg, sending a shiver down my spine. I had not noticed that I started crying, disturbing the position I was paralyzed in I wipe the puddle of opaque liquid that magnified the various shades of brown my skin had created as an attempt to counteract a substantial amount of impact. Marvelous, what the body can do. Marvelous that through all that voluntary abuse I did not utter one sound to display my pain. I remembered their argument; first he would finish with her, I knew he would not hit her, no that was saved for me because our blood tethered us all together. Second, he would carefully open my door, never with force for he worked hard, ‘like a dog’ he would say for this house. Third, his rage would bubble till he reached full exasperation, me still waiting in the position I was before I began to reminisce and cry. Fourth, he would scream in order to let out the steam of his fury, but still that was not enough and I would still be waiting. Fifth, he would grab my shiny well kept hair until I was sure he could feel the elasticity of my skin yielding, his breath hot enough to thaw up my nasal cavity. His eyes drained of sympathy and love and replaced with the same emptiness I have but I lacked something he embodied, power. Six, he would stop, finish with his intense workout and leave me. Seven, I’d wait now for mother. 3 more steps and it was over. My body shivered again snapping me out of what I thought were suppressed memories, the bed soaking from tears and urine, yet I still sat put. I look back at the mirror trying to refocus, my mind betrayed me again alternating between memories but I shook my head hard enough that a bone clicked into position, my attention quickly enrapt to my reflection. I smile because it was at that moment I realised my worth. That I had none...God should be the one who should feel that he has no worth, not me, a feeble human being, God should love like me and sacrifice like me. Maybe when I depart I shall teach God a few lessons I thought. I laugh causing the weak sound to bounce and eventually seep into the walls of my room. It must be the first time that these walls have heard and seen me laugh I thought, and it may also be the last. I get up peacefully, allowing my dress to extend and flow against my short legs, my pink feet losing their pinkish colour each time they get off the ground. I turn my mirror away from me, I grab hold of a kitchen knife which mother used to use whenever she was in the mood to cook chicken and rice. It was the knife which she beat me up over when she thought she had lost it. As I analysed it I tickled the tip of the knife hoping that like aurora it sent me off to sleep, but I knew my God was not as generous. I grab a hold of the knife with both my hands and stab a flimsy piece of paper that I had hand written myself, once I adjust the note I push it along the knife so that the tip would be exposed once again. Placing it near my liver I shiver again but this time from the coldness of the metal and thought how hilarious it was for a lifeless thing to have a temperature. The sea has a temperature of 161 degrees celsius, the sun 5505 degrees celsius, the soil in the ground after 10 feet 10 degrees celsius, and an average human body 37.2 degrees celsius. It was when the knife pierced through a thicker organ other than my skin I notice the mess that I made. Red and purple dont go well together, but I do not mind because I knew I was slowly falling into my subconscious mind and slipping away from my abstract thoughts. My departure was a secret one, a secret that will be discovered when another argument resurfaces, I was not sad for I had left a note with me that would give them a chance to heal another way. It was God's turn now.