She's Still Here

It’s quiet now.

The endless stream of voices speaking into my life… The unending choir, singing a song that defines me. My voice eagerly mixing in the chorus, a constant hum that has become all too familiar.

You’re not enough.
Your dreams are dumb.
You’re not good enough.
You’re doing it wrong.
You have nothing to give the world.
You’re not special.
You’re not creative.
No one sees you.
No one cares.
You’re not important.
You are nothing.

Until finally I get the strength to tell them all to shut up. A quiet plea, that drowns within the chaos. A quiet plea that fades out until I finally get the strength to scream through my tears. SHUT THE FUCK UP.

My harsh language shocks them into silence. I’m a little surprised it worked, but I find myself sitting in silence. I take a deep breath, the first one I’ve breathed in a long time. But the silence grows loud and I find myself wanting the voices back, the voices that can tell me who I am.

Because in the silence, I feel like nothing more than an empty shell. Who am I without the voices to define me? The voices transform into questions.

Do you even like the things you claim to? Or did you just grasp them when people wanted answers? Do you even like video? Do you like reading? Do you even like ice cream? Are you even good at any of it?

I look down at myself, a canvas that everyone seemed to paint on but me. But I know it’s my fault.

I gave them the paintbrushes and insisted they define me.

I insisted they choose the colors and the designs.

I closed my eyes as the paint flung from every direction. A tapestry of colors, none of which I would have chosen. A design that was better suited for Jackson Pollock than it was for me.

I tried to become everything everyone wanted me to be… and the result was a confusing mess that I cannot untangle from myself.

Who am I?

The question repeats in my mind, the answer nonexistent. Surely I am still in there. Somewhere. Under all the paint, there has got be someone in there who is worth it.

It’s quiet now.

I sit in the silence and focus on my breathing.

In.
Out.
In.
Out.

It’s the only thing that feels real, the only thing I can do right now that I know is truly me.

Deep breath in.
Deep breath out.

I feel my heartbeat, the rhythm growing louder in the silence. It tells me that there is still life in there, somewhere. Somehow my heart has held on, a metronome trying it’s hardest to keep me grounded.

She’s still in there.

I can feel her heartbeat.

She’s still here.