She filled the empty inside her with many things, but since that pit was bottomless and ravenous there was no success in the filling of it. There was no end to its acceptance, its demand, for more. She lived in a constant state of lack and sorrow that she carried within.
It began to kill her.
She had been hurt so many times, her disappointments and losses so defeating to her soul, that her heart began to harden, and her mind to grow harsh and judgmental towards herself for her follies. She began to withhold her thoughts and feelings, because she learned they didn’t matter to those she had surrounded herself with. She ate, drank, shopped and smoked her way towards a fullness that never came. She used her intelligence, sarcasm and quick wit to distract, divert and entertain all the attention away from her weaknesses. She became skilled at appearing to have it all together, and the more successful she was at that…
…the more unbearable her isolation became.
The circumstances she surrounded herself with slowly seeped into her spirit, tainting her perception and value of all she was. She no longer saw herself as the mystical, mythical force of light she always believed herself to be. In response, the sorrow she carried expressed itself in the weight that grew and wore her down. Her heart faltered and mirrored its spiritual hardening. The futile bitterness and regret spread outwardly from her thoughts into the reality she created and the pressure of her blood flow escalated with her rage.
She realized no one was coming to save her.
Knocked to her knees, her head bowed, she accepted there was no storybook life for her because she’d been living in the margins. There was no epic tale to tell if she didn’t live a life worth the telling. She would have to slay the dragon and free herself from the tower of foolishness. There was no gold if she didn’t spin it herself, no knight in shining armor to save her, no prince to kiss her awake.
She had to be the warrior that would save her.
She drew the sword from her own heart and saw herself in its reflection. She was astonished to see herself as she would be, superimposed over the image of what she’d made of herself. She began to slice and chop away at the thick vines that held her back from the light she needed. She tore down the walls around her stone by stone with her bare hands. When the dragons of rage and bitterness landed in her way, she inhaled their fire, looked them in the eyes and said “Back. The fuck. Off.” If they refused, she closed her eyes, absorbed them into herself, and moved on to the next joy.
She became the hero in her own story.
Are you the hero in yours?