The story of the girl: She was just seemingly fragile

She was blonde, scared, seemingly fragile. Her restlessness erupted through blue eyes, showing immense longing and fear. Her wild, wavy, and unruly blonde hair fluttered left and right, up and down with each new step, just as vigorously as her thoughts played in her head.

Her steps were always nervous, short and fast. It was as if she was hiding herself from the rest of the world, wanting to get rid of her own shadow, which in her footsteps reminded her that she was still not what she was, what she had to and wanted to become.

People passed by her, not noticing her suffering behind the smile, the sadness in her eyes and the nightmare in her soul. She would stand for hours on the road, walking in the rain, trying to wash away tears and pain in the rain. One large question mark hung persistently overhead like a gloomy rain cloud.

How to be what You are meant to be?

They don’t see her, they only see what serves them, they see what they have created in their head, wanting me to become that creation. In the hands of the wrong man, it became a shadow. She has become the one being talked about, the one who is obedient, the one who has no self of her own. But far from not having it. It is true that she allowed herself too much, sharing farewells with her fist and hat.

She was screaming inside. Assuring both him and those around her that it wasn’t her, they would wave their hand, impose their choices and goals on her, expecting her to accept them without rebellion. She protested, built walls around herself, stubbornly, fought like Don Quixote, but still didn’t learn to say no. The heart was an idiot then, it was stronger. Man learns while he is alive, but learns best on his own skin.

How hard it is to resist what the heart desires, how hard it is to realize that some stories were not created for us, but to be our springboard to what we are today. Learn to follow your voice, your intuition.

I chose, often wrong. Knowing what the outcome would be, I was never afraid of those emotions, I was not afraid of pain. Pain is my number two companion, along with the moon. Pain reminds us of what we were a long time ago, of what we are not and will no longer be, it shows us how far we have actually moved from the last version of ourselves. Someone is looking for less pain, someone more because they know how much they can handle.

I stood in that fog, at that crossroads. I knew I was bringing chaos into myself, that I wasn’t going to be the same. When I think about it today, it brings a smile to my face. Because if it weren’t for that, I would be somewhere else.

I feel like I’m exactly where I was supposed to be. It took years and years of fog, tears, and sleepless nights for me to realize that the only thing that mattered was my self. I only have this life, I really only have myself…

I learned to say no.

The scream was so penetrating, I ruined many friendships, loves, family relationships with it.

Everyone was amazed, in a way horrified. How can such a calm, beautiful girl become someone like this? You mean someone open, someone brutally honest, someone who won’t let anyone step on him anymore? It is true that this love has given me the greatest insight into myself so far. I scratched more on my own surface, exploring my own edges, my own extremes to find my language.

I had to consciously injure myself first, to force myself to face my fears. Because that’s probably what we freaks always do. We always look at things from a different angle, hurting ourselves the most, to see how much we are worth living.

I don’t know, the curse is kind of. To anticipate and know the outcomes in advance, to throw oneself into the fire consciously in advance, eager for exactly that experience. Knowing it will take years to recover. It was mapped out, I guess I recognized the long-trodden path of the soul. No regrets, no. Now I can finally observe some ancient self through the eyes of other people dear to me, or those completely unknown.

Sometimes I still see her, in the silence of the night, in the darkness of the room when I am alone. She approaches me with the same uneasiness in her eyes, trying to tell me something, but I don’t let her. She tries to re-enter the fire, strip the soul again, and burn the skin. She smiles mischievously here and there in the mirror, aware that there are no longer those fears that would prevent her from taking what belongs to her. In a way, I see the current pride in her. She always carried it inside her, she always found a way to express it outside.

Even when she was insecure, placed in front of a wall. He would definitely stay hanging in the air, not allowing others to cross that line. She was different. As stubborn as they are, so much theirs. She didn’t let herself be modeled so easily, but she didn’t mind so much.

She was ardent and fierce in her emotions, demanding that she be loved with equal zeal. And now she is, but now first she loves herself with that zeal.

The biggest difference is that she no longer cares about the opinions of others, that the opinions of others and their perceptions do not affect her. She’s always been a fighter under that mask of insecurity, she still is. And she laughs from ear to ear now, not caring that she has been told many times that that smile brings nothing.

She found wildness in herself through ancient pains. She used to hide herself from her, now she hugged her. Now she can’t do without her. They became one, like the moon and the stars, the sun and the clouds. Soon, they too will see, look at the world and me as I really am and the dream will be complete.

2 thoughts on “The story of the girl: She was just seemingly fragile”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s