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The Light Under my DoorMaybe I’m ready.
It could be time.
Should I dare to test the waters?
I’ve been in recovery for over a year now.
I haven’t seen an IV in my arm since last January.
I haven’t been to therapy since November.
I haven’t touched a blade since who knows when.
I don’t know if I’m ready to set foot into the world again yet.
The world outside of my head.
I can see the light under the door, hear the footsteps as they pass by.
I can hear them whisper.
“Is he okay?”
“What’s wrong with him?”
Very rarely someone knocks on my door to check on me.
I’m fine, just sitting alone in the darkness.
I’m comfortable here.
I don’t invite anyone in, not because I don’t like them,
But because I’m scared.
The last person I let in made a mess of things.
And the one before her.
And the one before.
What’s the point?
Even if the door was wide open, who would enter?
Who dares to enter my dimly lit world?
LoopThis vicious cycle needs to end.
Every week, you say you’re done, things will change.
Days later, every time, I see you with him again.
Pinned against the locker, not by his arms, but by the pain in your soul.
You are Stockholm’s Syndrome.
You are defeated, and broken.
Years of abuse has created a self-sustaining monster in your head.
Feeding off of itself, eating away at your will to pick yourself up.
You are a broken woman.
Your spirit has surrendered to him.
You’re pinned by your wrists, and you won’t allow yourself to tap out.
Why do you say things will change?
Why do you promise me when you know you’re lying?
Why do you leave yourself exposed,
So the world can see your broken heart beating in your open chest?
Why do you continue to eat the fruit that tasted so foul?
What pleasure do you take from the pain he brings?
Why do you let your life run in a continuous, endless loop, allowing the sadness to hit you harder and harder each time it comes around?
a dangerous hallucinationThe light coming through the window was bright,
much too bright.
Even though my eyes were closed
I could see it-
The skin of my arms prickled,
sweat dripped from my brow.
It was two in the afternoon but…
the sun was setting
through the window facing east.
I should have seen the hutch,
shelves lined with bone china
decorated with delicate leaves and vines.
I was so thirsty
and reaching for cups that should have been there.
Instead I found a billboard of butterflies,
the colors raging
more than any rainbow
I'd ever seen.
Their wings fluttered and flashed
yet somehow they moved in slow motion.
I wanted to stand,
wanted to reach out and touch them but…
I couldn't move,
and yet I laughed
ignoring my dry mouth
and the tingling in my feet.
There was a tempest
on the rise
and in my blood.
A sugar rush disguised
as a riot of butterflies
and they were swarming me.
There was a small vial
of insulin in my pocket
that I nev
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More