you are strong.
strange, because you dont feel strong. your skin is made of finely spun glass. while you are delicate and fragile, no one would call you beautiful. perhaps the term theyd use is grotesque. your body has been broken and rebuilt so many times that whatever original beauty there was has been lost in a mess of different materials, healing at different rates.
the world is a vice, squeezing you in on yourself. everyone is locked in their own battles, living through their own struggles, but you are more brittle than most.
fighting back makes you crack faster, but you know youll break anyway as it’s just a matter of time. each crack splits your glossy flossy skin open more and more, until you shatter completely.
pick up the pieces first. after floating in nothingness, reconstruct the self. where there are long and deep fissures, your body pushes through brutal ridges of scar tissue. it will hold, it will hold.
you wrap your body in cotton and gauze, but you dont really know why. at this point you dont know why you do anything anymore. is it to protect your body from infections while you heal? or perhaps is it to shield yourself from prying eyes? maybe you do it to protect your injuries from yourself. who knows at this point.
you are strong. you just had a moment of weakness.
everyone has their cross to bear but things just seems extra hard for you. like for some reason being happy just wasnt in the cards. where you have scar tissue, others have only the memory of tear stains on their skin, or perhaps kisses or sunlight. where you have felt claws squeezing until they couldnt any longer, others have kisses of family and friends.
your mother didnt let anyone touch you when you were an infant. you couldnt breastfeed. the words failure to thrive repeat in your head until they make no sense, but they answer everything. paradoxically, youre strong because you shouldnt have lived this long. somehow, absurdly, joyless existence makes you strong simply because you havent died even though youre an emotionally hobbled frankensteins monster of experiences.
you are strong because you havent died yet.
he says youre strong because you lasted a whole two weeks without him. inside you scream because you think about the rest of your life without him. im not strong, you insist. i want someone to accept me for being weak and pathetic. hes done with that part of his life, however, done with you, and you have to be strong.
youve lasted a lifetime without knowing love and affection with rare exceptions so really, hes right. you can survive without him — or anyone, for that matter.
that is the problem, and your ultimate conflict, however. what a miserable fucking survival this is — no touch, no affection, no love, no future, no hope. you want to be held, not just by anyone because your skin is too splintered for just anyone to hold on to you — another one of your brilliant defense mechanisms slowly killing you.
you can survive without touch but what really are you if you dont have that? some kind of weird monster? maybe a vampire, avoiding the sun, avoiding holy symbols, sucking the fucking life out of people (even those you care about) because it’s the only way you can survive? because the alternative is eternal twilight sleep in bed because you cant muster the will to exist?
instead of an almighty love and company and affection that you have so desperately craved since literal infancy, you have the useless knowledge that you are ‘strong’. this ‘strength’ does absolutely nothing for you because it doesnt empower you nor does it make you feel any different. you simply carry on as you have since birth — hollow, empty, absolutely fucking devoid of any capacity whatsoever to receive love because youre such a fucking grotesque, bitter, brittle creature.
because you were denied love since birth, you are strong. its an infuriating paradox and nothing makes you hate yourself more than anything. why cant you just be weak and have others accept it instead of demanding some inner strength that you dont have?
but at least youre strong, and at least youll survive this heartache, and the next one, and the next one, and the next one, and the next one, and the next one. because youre strong, and strong people always feel like theyve had their insides carved out by an ice cream scoop while encased in scar tissue. that is, if nothing else, the spitting image of strength and mental health that all should aspire to.
or you could accept that you arent strong and people only call you strong to avoid admitting that weakness is some kind of inherent flaw in your character, as if this is your fault. because god forbid some people are just more dependent on others than most people.
god fucking forbid some people are needier, are more affectionate, are more demanding emotionally. god forbid you smother this great ‘weakness’ and turn it into a socially acceptable ‘strength’ in order to appease everyone you come across, because your emotions, like your body, is foul and evil and all reactions to it are appropriately horrified.
you could do that too.
either way, there is nothing, fucking absolutely nothing, except howling angry wind in your chest because youre strong and youre surviving without anyones help. you are that goddamn infant, failing to thrive as your mother demands no one touches you because she doesnt want to make a habit out of carrying you and also because it would interrupt her cleaning the fucking house. you have to be strong because your mother wants to clean the house 24/7. as your soft baby skin begins to turn to glass after days without affection, you must learn that your idiot baby needs are secondary and that you are always goddamn secondary.
welcome to life.
you are strong.