SIX REASONS WHY I HATE ATTACHMENTS
I held on to an endless thread that was supposed to guide me in the dark, hoping that someone would tug the other end so I’ll know that I’m on the right path. I waited, waited, and waited, yet the thread didn’t flinch and I learned to be my own light instead of searching for one to guide me home. No one was brave enough to tell me there was never a home in the first place.
When I was 14, in return for a rose Ace asked me for band aids, I handed her rolls of gauze instead, questioning nothing of the trade. I admired the petals that’s as beautiful as the smile that painted her lips; I forgot the thorns that were digging into my skin. I held on tighter despite the blood, convincing myself that it was nothing compared to the hollowness of my chest when I realized I had no more gauze left. I have forgotten that Ace has always been a wild card that decided to never reveal her secrets, hopes and dreams to me and I was left questioning if she was the first or the last card on the deck.
When I was 15, I didn’t mean to pry open the secrets that were already left out in the dust. You saw me and conversations turned mute as if I was a walking billboard sign designed to decrease the volume of the crowds. I decided that curiosity will only kill me and I didn’t want to be killed, yet you take my smile as an invitation to take out your knife and slice me open. You think that I’m made out of steel; unbreakable no matter how many times you decide to throw me at the cold, hard, unforgiving ground. Yet you forget that steel have scars from the war they’ve been through, I think you've just painted mine.
The second week I turned 16, my best friend and I talked until our eyes went dry and our throats were sandpaper and all I asked of her is to be honest because I am tired of living in lies. She told me she loved the security of having people surround her even if it’s out of convenience and an illusion of being wanted. I told her “I am not an option for your convenience; I’m real.” I wanted to say, “illusion and reality cannot merge together to form a perfect line”. Perhaps that’s not what she wanted because right when I wanted to say “I can’t do this anymore.” she cuts me off with, “I don’t want this to end.”
I carved smiles that turned real after submerging myself in the masquerade for months. I was so independent it surprised him; it was not the first time someone told me that. I laughed and said thank you when in reality, I was mulling over the fact that independent, isolated and injurious are all a synonym in the dictionary of who I was and I’m scared and petrified. No one comes running to save the girl who can swim. People forget that people who can swim, drown too.
I am a flashlight running out of batteries. My chemicals are running low because I run on the anger and disappointment of being let down, of trying to prove I can do this alone. Perhaps the idea of not being a damsel in distress was simply an illusion I crafted for myself. Because when the battery is used up and all can call upon is love, everything turns dark again and I’m left to be that girl who held on to the thread wishing to be called back home.
and here we have blythe baird’s words
that changed my life. (also my fangirling is forever captured.)