“There was always something so fragile yet impenetrable about you…”
Everybody always knew, or the very least, suspected that something wasn’t right.
Nobody ever did a thing about it to help. They just watched me break.
And now that my wings are broken, I’m still expected to fly.
And all is okay.
And all is fine.
And all has improved.
And it’s all just pretend?
The jump from there to here, now, is impossible. Yet here I am, which makes me wonder whether my current state is some sort of denial.
Recently there have been good changes in my life, but to me ‘good’ is fragile, and ‘good’ slips through my fingertips no matter what. It’s not something I’ve ever worked out how to hold onto, just like happiness.
It’s there and then it’s gone. There aren’t varying degrees of either. It just is or it’s not.
I’m walking a tightrope between two extremes.
And all is wobbly.
And all is fragile.
But all is good and I don’t want to rock it too much.
I’m artificially fixing myself with self-destruction: drugs, starvation and no sleep. I’m holding the torn bits back together with tape, if you will. It works enough to fool myself and enough to fool the world. The cracks are there, as obvious as broad daylight, but if there’s one thing I’ve learnt in life, it’s that people will turn a blind eye.
I couldn’t give a shit about my weight or appearance. I’m always the same monster despite the body I hide behind. This is about my insides. This is about the filthy fragility that presents itself when health dominates my body. This is about what falls apart and becomes exposed when people get past my body and into my mind, digging for the root of fragmentation, fragmenting me further in the process. I flake off and fly into the night.
For some, this is about control, but for me I prefer the word adhesion. The numbness that keeps me bound. No one can tear me apart and nothing can break me. Numb I may be, but numb I am as one. I fly into the night, complete, and watch the world fade behind me.