I be on that verge, where I can take no more.
That brim of falling down and preventing not to, in turn filling up what’s already contained.
No, I don’t drink or smoke to deal with that.
It breaks me down…
I know I’m strong. I’ve always been.
I go weak. Pool of tears run down my cheeks like a new well was discovered and the spring just don’t stop. I don’t understand what’s killing me or what not is!
In front of the mirror trying to figure out and asking myself to stop that. Or with my pillow like it’s my ultimate anchor, clutching it to my chest with my nails clawing it, tight. There, there is the scream without a noise.
Broken, shattered sometimes. But I pick every piece one by one. Join them together. Or at least I try. Sometimes, they fall where they were before. Sometimes, it’s in all new form and places and I’m surprised. I’m surprised with what I see, what I feel.
It happens. Not just after, but it takes its own time. Though, I’m the impatient one. I say, I’m strong! Without that vodka playing with my senses.
I die facing it. But I do with all the courage that’s left in me or even with that spark that prop up from somewhere after that dark. I don’t know from where it comes, but I guess it comes from within. Within my screaming soul, for I wanna live. I can’t tolerate to show myself that I can’t stand back up when I have been pushed down. I can’t afford to believe I’m controlled by them, him! This scares me.
I have always had my head up high. I’ll maintain that, no matter what. It’s the beginning after every end I face. I grow strong with all of me, after crossing each border that I thought I cannot.
In response to daily prompt- Border